by Ray Garton
“Isn't it gooood, Casey Thorne? You'll have more, as much as you want."
Casey sucked and gulped furiously.
“Yes, keep sucking ... don't stop."
Unable to hold it in, Casey pulled her mouth away and laughed a girlish, gargling laugh, feeling drunk and strong and new.
Before opening his eyes, Davey felt a burning emptiness inside. The sickness was gone, the cold certainty that he was dying had passed, but the hunger was strong and pressed hard up into his throat.
He opened his eyes and rolled over, staring up at the ceiling.
“Davey?"
Davey turned his head and saw Walter Benedek sitting on the bed smoking a cigarette.
“How do you feel, Davey?"
Davey blinked and tried to move his arms but found his hands and feet had been tied.
“How long...” His voice was a rasp, like rusty pipes rattling in the walls. He coughed a few times. “How long have I been like this?"
“I got here about an hour and a half ago. It's almost midnight."
“You found me ... did you come in and..."
Benedek put his cigarette out in a drinking glass and walked over to Davey, looked down at him. “When I found you, you were ... unconscious."
“Un ... un..."
Benedek squatted beside him. “Davey, you weren't breathing."
“I wasn't...” Davey closed his eyes and gently tried to shake out the fog behind them.
“You had no pulse. Your heart wasn't beating."
Opening his eyes, Davey looked up at Benedek. He was serious. “I don't know what..."
“Davey, you were dead. When I came up here, I found you dead."
What was it Anya had said? She'd said that tonight ... tonight he would ... would...
Davey nodded his head slightly. “She said I would die tonight."
“Who?"
“Anya."
“You went to her?"
“No. She came here. Through the bedroom window."
Benedek glanced over his shoulder at the window, then looked back down at Davey. “Did she make the scratches?"
Davey nodded.
“You're nine fucking stories up!"
Pulling against the ropes, Davey said, “Why am I tied up?"
Benedek put his hand on Davey's shoulder and squeezed. “Davey, did you hear me? You're nine floors up, how could she come to your Goddamned window?"
“I don't ... I'm...” Davey wanted to be left alone. He didn't want to think about anything, but the image of Anya hovering outside the window would not go away. “She was just ... she was just there."
“And you let her in."
Davey nodded.
Benedek stood suddenly and walked away from Davey, lighting another cigarette. “Jesus Christ,” he bellowed, “if you wanted to get laid, couldn't you have found a woman who doesn't float?"
After a long pause, silent but for Benedek's pacing footsteps, Davey croaked, “Walter, why am I tied up?"
His question was ignored.
“Davey, there's a man at the Midnight Club by the name of Cedric. Tall, Hispanic, scar on his neck. Know the one?"
Davey nodded, flinching at a cramp in his stomach.
“About six months ago, Cedric was found dead in a trash bin off Broadway. He'd bled to death, but there was no blood around the body. Later, his corpse disappeared from the morgue. Because the idea of a corpse walking out of a morgue is too fucking ludicrous for anyone to swallow, it was assumed to have been stolen.” He stood over Davey again. “Now he's working in a nightclub where he fucks middle-aged women—and men for all I know—and, as far as I can make out, takes blood from them, which is stored in refrigerators in the back by my brother-in-law who, I suspect, has been dead for the last three weeks. Does any of that make sense to you?"
The cramp would not go away and Davey curled up on his side.
“Just leave me alone,” he grunted. “Untie me and go. I'm sick."
“Davey,” Benedek said softly, kneeling, the anger in his voice replaced by concern, “you should be dead, do you understand? I want to help you. If you can explain any of—"
“I'm hungryyyy!" Davey wailed, tilting his head back and opening his mouth wide.
Benedek suddenly jumped to his feet and backed away, gasping, “Holy Christ, your teeth!"
Davey blinked at him.
“Open your mouth again,” Benedek whispered tremulously.
Davey gingerly ran his tongue over them. They were long and very sharp. Davey groaned and turned away from Benedek.
“Just like Vernon,” Benedek muttered.
The emptiness inside Davey seemed to bloat his stomach until it felt as if it might split open. A pounding ring sounded in his ears and he had to close his eyes because the room had begun to spin. He couldn't think about what was happening to him, he couldn't give any thought to the teeth in his mouth which had not been there an hour and a half ago, because the hunger in him was eating him up.
“Walter,” he rasped, “in the refrigerator, second shelf, there's some hamburger. Will you bring it to me ... please?"
Meat, he craved meat.
“Do you want me to cook it?” Benedek asked uncertainly.
The thought of the hamburger being warm and brown made Davey want to retch.
“Just bring it!"
He heard Benedek's hurried footsteps, the refrigerator open and close, the sound of cellophane crinkling as it was torn away.
“Here,” Benedek said, returning to his side.
Davey turned onto his back and looked up at the man. He seemed as tall as a building.
“Will you untie me, Walter?"
Benedek slowly shook his head. “Afraid not, Davey. Not yet."
“Then put it in my mouth."
Bending down, Benedek tore away a chunk of the moist burger and touched it cautiously to Davey's lips.
Davey sucked the raw meat into his mouth ravenously, pressing it to his palate with his tongue. The cold, coppery taste of blood was faint and only fed his hunger like dry wood on a fire. He writhed, spitting the meat from his mouth and crying, “It's not enough!” He looked up at Benedek and saw fear in the man's eyes, fear and helplessness. And he saw something else...
Even in the dark, Davey saw the pulse beneath the skin of Benedek's neck. A steady pulse that made the flesh bulge slightly with each beat.
“Leave, Walter,” Davey said imploringly, unable to take his eyes from the vein. If he could just get close enough to brush his teeth over the skin, open it up, the blood would push itself out, onto his tongue and down his throat. His penis began to harden. “Get the hell out of here now!"
“Davey, I'm gonna call my wife and have her come—"
“Walter, I'm hungry,” Davey hissed. “I'm not sure what's happening to me but I'm hungry and I'm going to hurt you if—"
“That's why you're tied up,” Benedek said confidently.
Davey moved his hands and without any effort at all the cord snapped and fell away from his wrists. He sat up, his eyes on Benedek's neck.
“Walter,” Davey said, his voice guttural and harsh, “I'm hungry and you have what I need."
Benedek reached the doorway in an instant.
“Davey, I want to help you."
“Then go, Walter. I don't want to hurt you.” Tears stung his eyes and disgust clogged in his throat, making it hard to speak. “But I will. I can't help it."
“Okay, Davey, listen. You have my number. When you're ... better, call me. I'll try to help you if I can."
“Thank you, Walter. Now go."
Benedek's footsteps were silenced by the closing of the door in the living room.
Not trusting his legs, Davey crawled to the bed and lifted himself to his feet. The room tilted and he sat on the edge of the mattress for a moment, then carefully walked to the window. With a heave, Davey lifted the sash and let the cold night air wash over him.
The transfusion is complete, Anya had said.
He'd become
like her. He'd allowed her to change him, and now that it was done...
Davey couldn't think about it now. He imagined the entire city stretched before him, alive with millions of people, millions of hearts pumping warm blood through veins and arteries...
He knelt at the window and laid his head on his arms.
He knew he needed blood. Each second that passed without his hunger being satisfied seemed to drain his body of energy. The very thought, however, of drinking the life out of another human being was ... was...
He shuddered. Although he tried hard to imagine the act to be repulsive, he couldn't.
Lifting his head, he looked up at the murky night sky. His tongue felt like sandpaper and his dry eyes burned.
A life of endless potential and power.
He imagined gliding over the city, swift and silent, his senses raw, acutely aware of everything around him, every sight and sound, even the faintest scents on the breeze.
Some things will come instinctively.
With his eyes on the sky, the fantasy became so vivid that he was unaware of the changes taking place in his body, the shrinking of his bones, the shifting of his skin...
The window seemed to grow, become enormous, and the view beyond became wider and wider until there was no floor beneath him, no walls around him. The city was a passing blur below, its lights filtered through what seemed to be a mist in his eyes, and as if the plan had been tucked away in his mind all along, Davey knew upon whom he would feed.
Chad Wilkes watched the girl's back as she walked away from the barstool next to him and burrowed into the crowd on the dance floor. She was petite and blond and had a tiny mole just above her mouth. Oh well. She was probably a ball-buster anyway. She certainly didn't have a sense of humor.
Chad had used one of his favorite icebreakers on her, the one he used when he was in an up kind of mood, which he was that night because he'd canceled a dinner date with Stella Schuman (something he'd been trying to muster the guts to do for quite a while) but the girl had not been at all amused.
“So, what's your sign?” he'd said, and after her abrupt reply: “Oh, Aries? I'm a Sagittarius. I'm a little rusty on my astrology, but if I'm not mistaken, tonight's the night my Milky Way is supposed to slide into Uranus."
She'd tossed back the rest of her drink and walked away.
And she'd been his fourth try! It was just short of midnight and he was having no luck. Oh well, having nothing was better than having dinner with her. It hadn't been so bad at first because he'd known that it would get him somewhere. But now that he'd received his promotion, and especially now that talk of their relationship was spreading—Casey Thorne's little remark in the elevator had really pissed him off—he didn't know if he'd get near her again.
Leaning against the bar, Chad surveyed the crowd, his wine cooler in hand, waiting to find someone interesting—and interested.
He finished his drink and decided a good piss might make him feel better. He walked casually away from the bar, smiling and nodding at each woman with whom he happened to make eye contact.
The rest room was cramped and dirty and not very well lit, the smell of urine and feces thinly covered by the stinging odor of pine-scented cleaner. A small rectangular window was open in the back of the room, just above the last stall, but what little fresh air got in didn't get far.
There were two urinals: one was piled with wet toilet paper, the other had an OUT OF ORDER sign taped to it.
Clicking his tongue, Chad walked to the first stall and pushed the door open. It squeaked as it turned heavily on its hinges and something in the rest room fluttered.
Chad looked back over his shoulder at the rest room's entrance.
Nothing.
The stall door began to slowly swing shut again and he stopped it with his hand. It seemed pretty heavy for such a thin, rickety door. He stepped inside, shouldering around the door so it could swing closed.
Spreading his feet before the yellowed toilet. Chad opened his fly, but before he could relieve himself he heard the fluttering sound directly behind him, so close that it ruffled his hair. He spun around, zipper gaping, to look into two small red eyes and a snout lined with razorlike teeth hanging upside down from the hook on the door. Two wings mapped with thin delicate veins spread wide and then sprang on him and wrapped around his face, making him fall back on the toilet.
Pain shot down his legs as his hips landed hard on the dirty porcelain bowl. Chad screamed but the sound was muffled by the thing smothering his face. He raised his hands and tried to slap it away, but it held on tight and seemed to be ... it was getting heavier and holy Jesus it was getting bigger and stronger, spreading over his whole body until...
The thing pulled away and Chad scrambled to get to his feet but couldn't because a strong hand was holding him down. It was a man, a naked man—oh Jesus Christ a homo a fag sweet Jesus I'm gonna be raped! — not a bat, which was what it sure as hell looked like a few seconds ago, and Chad lifted his eyes to the man's face and sucked in his breath so hard that he nearly gagged.
“Hello, Chadwick,” Davey Owen said through a grin, letting the name dribble from his mouth like spittle.
“Davey, what the hell're you doing here? You're naked, Davey, Jesus, what's..."
“I came to find you, Chad."
“Did you have to scare the bejeezus outta me like that?"
“Sorry,” Davey said, smiling.
Adrenaline was still racing through Chad's body but his fear had passed now that he knew it was only Davey Owen. Probably Davey was pissed off about the promotion and about losing his job, none of which, of course, was Chad's fault. He angrily tried to knock Davey's hand away from his shoulder. It wouldn't budge.
“Okay,” Chad barked, “so you've found me, now what the hell do you want?"
“Just a little blood, Mr. Wilkes,” Davey whispered.
“Huh, what? Davey, will you..."
Chad felt himself being lifted and slammed against the wall. His head banged the Sani-Sheet dispenser above the toilet. His eyes widened. Maybe Davey was on drugs, PCP, that made people really strong, didn't it? It had to be that because Davey Owen simply was not that strong.
“Look, Davey, I know you're upset about..."
Davey opened his mouth and the fangs sparkling with saliva made Chad want to scream.
“This won't hurt a bit, Mr. Wilkes,” Davey said softly as he leaned forward.
13
____________________________
Wednesday
WHEN STELLA SCHUMAN OPENED HER OFFICE DOOR AT twelve minutes past eight in the morning, she was met by a gust of chilled air. Two sheets of paper blew from her desk and fluttered to the floor.
Behind her desk, there was a jagged hole in the window from which several delicate cracks spread like webbing across the rest of the pane.
“Jasmine,” she said stiffly.
Her secretary came to her side. “Yes?"
“Do you know anything about this?"
Jasmine Barny lightly touched her fingertips to her lips when she saw the hole.
“No!” she said breathily.
“Damn,” Miss Schuman barked as she went into the office and put her briefcase on the desk. “Get maintenance up here right away and tell them to handle this, will you please?"
Jasmine was gone before her boss was finished speaking.
With a hearty exhalation, Miss Schuman lowered herself onto one round knee and retrieved the papers, then replaced them on their stack, using her cigarette box as a paperweight.
Below the window, a large water spot from the rain of the night before had spread over the carpet.
They were endless, these little annoyances, endless. Last night, her television had started acting up and made Pat Sajak look like a deformed Asian throughout Wheel of Fortune. Then Chad had canceled their evening together with an abrupt phone call.
“Don't have time to explain,” he'd said, “but something's come up. I'll see you tomorrow at work."
/> Fine. You help someone climb the ladder and they start getting too big for the rungs. If she found out he'd gone to that repulsive meat-market bar he frequented, well, she'd give him a good scare. Maybe tell him they were going to be forced to lay off a few assistant editors because of a drop in circulation. Let the little bugger shake in his boots for a week or so.
The corners of the weighted-down papers snickered in the wind.
What could have done it? A bird? Certainly not vandals; the window was eighteen floors up.
“Damn,” she said again, taking her briefcase from the desk and leaving her office. “I can't work in here.” She stepped through the doorway and started to tell Jasmine she was going to the lounge but stopped when she saw a bald man leaning over Jasmine's desk.
“May I help you?” Miss Schuman asked.
The man looked up and smiled briefly. “Stella Schuman?"
“Yes."
“Detective Kenneth Riley, New York Police.” He showed her his badge and ID, then slipped them into his coat pocket. “Do you have a few minutes?"
“What can I do for you?"
“I need to ask you a ... could we go somewhere?"
“I'm on my way to the lounge right now.” To Jasmine: “Tell Chad I want to see him."
“He hasn't come in yet."
“Well, when he does."
When they started down the corridor, the detective asked, “Was that Chad Wilkes you were asking for?"
“Yes. Why?"
“He's the reason I need to talk with you."
“Good God,” she snapped, “what's he done?” Paper cup in hand, she approached the coffeepot.
“He's been murdered."
She turned to him with a start. “Are you sure?"
“Quite sure, Miss Schuman."
“In his apartment? On the street? Where?"
“In the rest room of a club called the Trench."
“Oh, Christ.” She filled her cup, suddenly angry. Chad had been unaware that she knew he was going to the Trench, but she'd been planning to strongly suggest he avoid the place. She'd often worried about what he might pick up from the little tarts he met there.