by Kol Anderson
Blood spilled from the wounds on his neck. The vampire tried to pull him up. "Come on," he said and Jensen was surprised to hear the sudden gentleness in his voice. But out of fear or some last resort at keeping the humanity that Jensen knew was about to leave him, Jensen kept his hands on the floor immersed in the blood pooling around them. "No!" he screamed. Jensen closed his eyes and wept, wishing for this nightmare to be over, but the vampire was adamant. "Come," he repeated in the same gentle tone. Jensen wished his hands were claws that he could dig inside the floor so the vampire couldn't take him away. But the vampire did manage to pry Jensen off and helped him up so Jensen was facing him.
He sank his teeth into Jensen's neck a second time and it hurt even more because the vampire was going over already wounded skin, but there was also a kind of dark satisfaction that Jensen felt when the vampire continued to suck the life out of him. One by one the other vampires left the room, until Kent and Jensen were the only ones remaining. Jensen could feel the blood going out of him and collecting into the vampire's strong form. And then Jensen was having trouble breathing, and his heart felt at the same time like it was pumping too fast and too slow. The vampire stopped when Jensen thought he couldn't take it anymore and he let Jensen sink carefully on top of a leather sofa and knelt in front of him. The look on the vampire's face was gentle now as he brushed the hair out of Jensen's face.
Jensen simply stared at him, unable to react or to even cry. He watched as the vampire produced a switchblade, used it to lacerate a spot on his own neck. Blood spilled forth from the vampire's neck, full and red like wine, and Jensen felt thirst rearing its ugly head. He wanted nothing more than to taste some of that wine that was the vampire's blood, and when the vampire brought his neck closer to Jensen's mouth, Jensen didn't have to be told twice. He placed his mouth on the vampire's soft skin, used his tongue to taste the blood. He broke off and looked at the vampire's face, fearing that he might be stopped, but the vampire said nothing when Jensen tightened his hands around the vampire's shirt to pull him closer. He latched onto the cut, drank from the creature as wildly as the creature had drunk from him.
The more he consumed the blood, the more Jensen felt the pain leaving him, and though he could feel himself descending into darkness, he wasn't afraid of it anymore. The blood made him impatient. All the things he had wanted to say a while ago, the hate and the resentment all gone as though it had never been there. The vampire was no longer an enemy, but the one Jensen could have given his life to keep alive. He felt a strong pang of lust, a different kind of hunger and pulled the vampire closer in order to compensate for the desire he felt within himself. The vampire pulled Jensen's head away from his neck, and Jensen watched in awe as skin cells closed the wound he’d just been drinking from, healing the flesh before his eyes. His hands on the vampire's shoulders, Jensen looked into the creature's eyes, waiting for guidance.
"Lie down," the vampire said.
Jensen lowered himself on the sofa, placed his head on the raised leather arm and the vampire sat next to him. His thumb went over Jensen's cheek in a loving gesture. "Do you know what's happening?" the vampire asked.
"You're turning me," Jensen replied. "Into—what you are."
"You know what I am?"
Jensen nodded.
The vampire's hand moved away from Jensen's cheek and instantly Jensen hated the lack of touch. The vampire looked somber. Not quite as demonic as he had looked before when he was looking at Jensen, when he had been forced by the older vampires to turn him. "Vampires have a code," Kent said. "We all have to stick to it because that's how you survive in a world where you're grossly outnumbered. Turning you was part of that code."
Jensen remembered the dislike the vampire had initially shown for the idea. For some reason the thought kept bothering him now. "You didn't want me," he said. "You said I was weak."
"Doesn't matter how it happened," the vampire said. "You are mine now. Bound to me by blood."
"I know."
"You do?"
"I can feel it," Jensen said. "Your blood inside me it's—it's strange. I can hear your heartbeat, feel you in my veins."
"I feel you the same way."
"Is there anyone else?"
"I don't have any other progenies if that's what you mean."
"Am I supposed to love you?"
Kent smiled. "Being a vampire," he said, "it can be confusing at first. You might feel things more. You'll feel lust when you might only feel liking in real life. You'll get the hang of it. I can't say you'll always know whether it’s lust or love, but you'll learn to find a certain thrill in not knowing."
A peculiar feeling rose in his gut and Jensen placed a hand over his belly. "Something's happening," he said. "I feel…strange."
"Your body is going to reject the transformation," Kent said. "A last attempt at fighting the eventual. It'll feel strange for a while but it gets better."
"How old are you?"
"An hour ago we didn't even know each other and now you're asking me to reveal my real age."
"You don't look that old."
"They turned me when I was thirty-eight but I'm a little over a hundred years old now."
"That makes you powerful."
"Well, if most vampire fiction is to be believed."
"Can you turn into a bat?"
"No, I cannot turn into a bat."
At about the same place where Jensen had felt the odd feeling, now a sharp pain rose, making him scream. "Fuck!" he said, trying hard to control the screaming.
"Look at me," the vampire said.
"I can't take this!"
"Jensen!" the vampire raised his voice. "Look at me!"
So Jensen stared into the vampire's eyes. "Focus," the vampire said. "Calm down. Calm down and focus on my voice."
The pain lessened to a degree but Jensen was still having trouble speaking. "How…long…does it take?" he asked.
"The transformation can take an entire night," the vampire said. "Everyone's body reacts different. Yours seems to be acting violently."
"Is that a problem?"
"Jensen," the vampire said, "your body is going to lose the battle one way or another."
"I'm going to die!"
"Do I look dead to you?" the vampire said. "You'll be immortal."
But despite the vampire's assurances Jensen found the fear returning. He was about to turn into something—a creature-he didn't find as abhorrent anymore but still, they were far from human. Everything started to crash around him and the pain only got worse. Jensen felt like the bit of heaven he had experienced a moment ago was gone now and might never come back. The vampire was still with him, not moving, not going anywhere, and at least Jensen was thankful for that. When the vampire placed his hand on Jensen's palm he looked concerned. "Wait here," he said. Then he got up and left. So much for that, Jensen thought miserably. But the vampire was back in no time. In his hands, he held a cup which he handed to Jensen to drink. The cup was filled with a foul-smelling liquid that was brown and thick in consistency with a variety of herbs floating in it. "Am I really supposed to drink this?" Jensen said, making a face. "It smells awful!"
"You don't think I'm aware of that?" the vampire said. "Drink up. It will help with the pain and everything else."
So Jensen tried not to breathe and drank the pungent liquid, even managed to do it without retching. But once the liquid was inside him, Jensen felt his skin going cold. He ran a hand over his arm when he started to shiver.
"Are you cold?" the vampire asked and Jensen nodded.
Once again the vampire disappeared into the house and was back with blankets that he used to cover Jensen's body well. By that time the shivering had gotten worse. The vampire ran a hand over Jensen's clammy forehead. "You'll feel better soon," the vampire said as though reminding Jensen not to give up. As though Jensen had a choice in the matter. Despite that, Jensen no longer felt the need to stop the transformation. The slight fear was still there in the back of his mind, t
roubling him just a bit, but Jensen found it was starting to diminish with everything that was going on. At least the vampire was right about one thing—the pain did lessen. Once again, Jensen felt secure in the vampire's presence. "Is this your home?" he asked.
"It's your home too now," the vampire said.
"But I have a home."
"You had a home," the vampire said. "The elders didn't have me turn you so you could go back and live in whatever trench you're from."
"It's not so bad."
"Do you have a family?"
"No."
"I figured."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," the vampire said, "I know why they choose you. They wanted someone who didn't have any ties holding him back, keeping him attached to the world. Someone who was free."
"Are you free?"
"Yes, I suppose so."
Another sharp pain rose, this time from Jensen's chest. The vampire brought him that vile drink again and Jensen swallowed it without thinking. "You're nice," Jensen said.
"Don't take my need to officiate a proper transformation as kindness."
"I know that's not true," Jensen said. "I can bet you're a good person."
"Jensen," the vampire said. "You don't know what you're talking about. Also, you're high on vampire blood. My blood is doing this to you. When you wake up tomorrow you might feel a little differently about your savior and best friend."
"That's not going to happen."
"We'll see."
There was silence in the room.
"Am I going to have to kill people?" Jensen asked.
"Why don't you leave all that for later?"
A sudden calm came over Jensen and he felt himself relaxing. The fear disappeared too, whatever of it was still left and trying to get him to do something about the fact he was being ‘transformed.' Perhaps his mind and body had come to terms with the idea as well because there was no more anxiety about the whole thing. The vampire was right, he wasn't dead by any definition of the word. If anything, to Jensen, he seemed more alive than any human he knew of. His skin was glowing and soft and his eyes were a brighter color than any blue eyes Jensen had ever seen. Most of his fears were regarding what he was going to become, and Jensen was certain he wasn't going to end up becoming some kind of monster, because how could he become something he wasn't? He wasn't a murderer now and he would never become one; no matter how bad it got Jensen would find a way to be himself. If he wasn't going to kill anyone then he shouldn't be worrying about being a threat.
CHAPTER FOUR
When Liam had started hustling he met a girl named Tamara. Tamara was twenty-one at the time and older than Liam, but she was wise beyond her years. Which was why it wasn't a surprise that she always had the best kind of advice for him. One day, Tamara told Liam about the ‘system' she had devised. She told him how every room she entered, regardless of whether it was a bathroom stall or an actual room, the first thing she did was to look for faults—cracked paint on a wall or water stains on a ceiling—she would memorize one particular fault so she had somewhere to go when a john was with her. She told Liam how a simple crack in the wall could open up a world where he could escape. It was self-deception but it seemed to work for her. Every day since then, Liam had done the same. Every time he was with someone he didn't want to be with, or someone who treated him in a brutal way, Liam would lose himself in wall cracks and ceiling stains too. No wonder then that the first thing Liam did upon entering Austin's bedroom was to look for faults. Austin had a well-kept house so it was hard to find anything, but Liam did manage to catch sight of two spots on the wall next to the bed that served this purpose. They were the first thing he touched when he entered the room and Austin had asked him what he was doing but Liam had shrugged it off as nothing.
Somehow, even with all the things that Liam had been through, letting Austin have control of his life this way was a depressing thought, and Liam found himself not exactly regretting it but regretting the fact that he didn't get time to get used to it. Even on Death Row they got last wishes, but Liam never got any, and that was somehow the hardest part, coming to terms with the fact that freedom would now simply be a relative term. That first week, the first few days, Austin had been tense. Though he wasn't keeping Liam locked up, he wasn't giving him complete freedom either. Or any sort of freedom. It was only after the first week that Austin seemed to relax and Liam had found himself being free from Austin's smothering attention. He couldn't look at spots forever so Liam tried to lose himself in drugs, more so than he used to and that was his only getaway. Fortunately, Austin was okay with him doing all that. He didn't seem bothered by it in the least bit and that was something at least. If Austin had tried to take his freedom to do chemicals away then Liam would have nothing left.
The conversation at PRY was even more depressing than his first week at Austin's house. Austin no longer kept Liam under lock and key and that alone was something. So when Liam was coming out of the PRY room, he found Moira and the bartender talking and they saw 4promptly launched into a conversation about how Austin was a dangerous man and how he had hurt other people before. She didn't exactly tell Liam anything he didn't already know, of course. When Liam told them about Austin's offer, Moira told him flatly to refuse it. For a while Liam had tried to ignore everything, even thought of lying, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Moira and the bartender were the closest things he had to friends. So Liam had to tell them he said yes to Austin's offer. Liam expected Moira to launch into a proper argument and at least a scolding, but she did none of it. She just stared at her drink and ran a manicured finger over the rim of her glass. Then she took the glass to her mouth and swallowed a good amount of the alcohol. Only then was she able to say anything. "Bambi," she had said. "Be careful." And Liam had wanted to cry then. He had wanted someone to hold him and help him and save him from the monster that he obviously couldn't save himself from. And then he had remembered what Austin had said about him, that he was weak.
Austin might be wrong about a lot of other things but he was right about this one. Since then, Liam hadn't talked to anyone. He hadn't even ventured going back to PRY. He simply kept himself away from any confrontation. And the first few weeks with Austin hadn't been so bad. Austin seemed happier somehow, now that he had Liam. Even the bruises on Liam's face were starting to disappear. There was something odd about the whole family thing Austin craved. He would leave the house in the morning even though Liam knew he didn’t actually ‘work.' He would come back and announce that he was back, at which point Liam was supposed to hand him his favorite drink. It was like playing house with a grown-up. It's strange the things people desire. And then when Austin started telling him all those stories, about his own parents, his mother being a good homemaker and how his father was always working hard, Liam understood. Austin was trying to recreate home. Liam didn't even know what home felt like anymore. The few memories he had of his dead parents weren't really memories, they had been more like flashes and they were starting to come less and less now that he was older. It was sweet, in a Hannibal Lector sort of way what Austin was doing. So Liam tried hard to give the man what he needed in return for all the nice things Austin did for him.
Sometimes he got lost in the fantasy, in playing house with Austin, but other times he found himself feeling like a Stepford Wife. Like a generated human being instead of something that a womb might have given birth to—Liam 2.0 that constantly needed security updates. That's what everything in his new life seemed like, premeditated. As though every decision he was supposed to make had already been made by someone else, and Liam was simply going through the motions to make it look like it was real. Like he wasn't really flesh and blood but a dead corpse, and because Austin happened to be the one who resurrected him, Liam's only purpose in life was to mindlessly do what Austin wanted him to do. No matter how outrageous a command Austin made, Liam felt compelled to do it. But sometimes even the faults in the wall or ceiling weren't enough to take him
away from right now. Sometimes, the things Austin did managed to get through to him, beyond the barrier that those faults provided him with. Still, Liam tried. He did everything in his power to make this thing with Austin work, and he tried hard not to think about how cold and numb he was inside. It wasn't as though the numbness and coldness were new to him. In some way he had always felt it. There might have been a time when that wasn't true, when he might actually have had real feelings but it was all gone now, lost in the deceit of lies and subterfuge.
Liam knew that the only truth was the one right in front of him, so he stopped dreaming a long time ago. He no longer subscribed to any of the fantasies, true love being one of them. By choosing to stay with Austin he had confined himself to a life of non-expression. Austin was his owner, the man who now held the reins and, though Liam had never seen freedom before, this was somehow worse because it was false pretense. Of course that's what Austin needed from him and that's what Liam decided he would give. A man had every right to get his money's worth. Liam was nothing more than a slave. There were certainly people in worse conditions than him, right? There had to be. There was always someone worse off than you out there—that was the rule. Liam wasn't some special snowflake. But no matter how much he tried to give himself to Austin, every time they were in bed, Liam would need the help of the two spots on the wall. And every time Austin would get off him, Liam would be forced to come back to the real world where he felt more alone than ever.
Every time Liam would look out the window, he looked for a blizzard that never came.
"I've got some people coming over," Austin said one day as he was dressing up for ‘work.' "Why don't you dress up nice and order something?" Even Austin knew Liam couldn't cook to save his life. But sometimes they created the illusion of cooking by ordering takeout and then serving it up in fancy plates.