Donor

by Elena Hearty

  Since when did Charles have a girlfriend? Lenore pictured Morticia Addams. “Why would he want to sign his girlfriend up for this?”

  “He’s got this idea in his head that we’ll eventually turn her. I can’t bring myself to tell him that we won’t.”

  Lenore would never understand what prompted Charles to keep chasing that carrot, or what prompted Paul to dangle it in front of him in the first place. "Can't… Can't you get someone? Do you have to go through Charles?"

  Paul's ever-present grin widened. "Now hang on for a minute there. You realize what you‘re asking me to do, right? Everyone up to this point—Rich was going to kill them anyway, so you aren't responsible for their deaths—but here‘s where it all changes."

  “What are you talking about? Rich emailed you, right? He’s the one asking.”

  Paul shook his head. “Oh no, kiddo. I’m not going to make it that easy on you. I didn‘t come down here to talk to Richard. I came down to talk to you. I want to hear you ask.”

  She looked pained. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “Because you and I have something terrible in common,” he smiled. “We have to kill people to stay alive. I want to know what you decide to do about it.”

  Lenore took a long sip of coffee, processing his words. “No. It’s different. You’re putting me in this position.”

  "Oh, you must think I'm the devil now, huh? Well, I have several things to say to that. First, I didn't choose to be in this position either, but that's life. Also, you're the one asking me. It isn’t the other way around. Even if we pretend this is all Rich’s idea, chew through the candy coating and you‘ll hit a bitter truth: someone‘s dying for you, someone who wouldn‘t have had to die otherwise. And I’m not trying to make you feel bad about it. I’m the last person on earth who would do that, but I think you can stand to take some of the responsibility.”

  She stared at him icily, placing her cup on the counter. "Fine. I'm asking you to find someone else."

  “Excellent.” He brought his hands together dramatically. “Then we have a deal, but before we sign any paperwork, let’s get a few things straight.”

  “Like what?”

  “You're helping.”

  Lenore's mouth fell open.

  And Paul chuckled, scratching his head. “Now, how does that saying go? Give a man a fish and he'll eat for a day; teach a man to fish and he'll eat for the rest of his life? Something like that. Anyway, here's what we'll do: we're going to take a little field trip, you and I, and you're going to find a man and bring him back here. It's easy for women, trust me. It's as simple as asking someone to walk you home.

  Her eyes grew wide. “Don’t do this to me. You know I can’t agree to that. Paul, please don’t do this. Please don’t play this game with me.”

  “What makes you think this is a game? Killing is nasty business. It isn’t a game at all. And I refuse to pretend that you’re some helpless damsel in distress. You’re smart enough to know what you’re doing, and to deal with the consequences.” Lenore stood in silent contemplation, nodding once before Paul continued. “Do you know why Angela stuck around as long as she did? It wasn’t by coincidence. She went out and lured men back here for dinner.”

  Lenore's hands formed into fists. “I'm not Angela, Paul. And I'm never going to agree to this. Not to buy myself another week. Once I go down that road, there's no going back.”

  Paul drummed his fingers on the counter like a pianist trying to tap out a melody. “You know, I don't get you at all. I don't understand why you were comfortable asking me to find someone, but the moment you have to get your hands dirty, you bail.”

  “I buy my meat at the grocery store.”

  “The grocery store's closed, kiddo.”

  "So that's it then." A panic had started to arise but was bedded back down by the six Xanax racing through her system. "Oh God, Paul. I don‘t want to kill anyone…"

  “Well, I think that’s probably a good thing, don’t you? Cheer up. Nothing’s going to happen for the next few days. I’ll give you the opportunity to change your mind, and I hate to say it, but I think you will. I told you before, I think you‘re pretty good at looking out for yourself.” He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, crafting his next sentence. “I want you to know something. It’s not like I want you to die, do you understand? Quite the opposite. I think we'd actually have a really good time hunting together if you'd give it a chance."

  Hunting together? Lenore shook her head in disbelief. “I'm through talking to you. I'm going to talk to Rich.”

  “You're going to talk to Rich.” Paul repeated her words as if they were in some ancient Greek dialect.

  “Yeah. I don't like the option you’re giving me, so I'm making a new one.”

  Paul leaned backward in his seat, crossing his arms in amusement. “Alright. I'll buy a ticket for this ride. What are you going to say to Rich?”

  “I'll ask him to man up and go to the clubs until I'm back to normal.”

  “And you seriously think he's going to agree to that?” Paul whispered, turning his head to make sure they were alone. “Why would he do that for you? You’re disposable to him.”

  Lenore smiled. “That’s why I’ve got nothing to lose. What's the worst thing that could happen? I piss him off? He's going to kill me anyway.”

  Paul raised his eyebrows excitedly. “Can I come with you? Can I watch?”

  “Sure. Come on. He's probably in the library.”

  ✽✽✽

  Richard was indeed in the library, hunched over a pile of documents. He did not look up as they entered, but instead grabbed what looked like a contract from the edge of the desk and held it up in the air.

  “Paul, you need to sign this. It’s from the attorney.”

  "Yeah, thanks, Rich. I'll look it over in a bit."

  Richard turned to face them now, the corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile. “So you guys know I could hear every word you said in the other room, right? I mean, Lenore probably wouldn’t have known that, but Paul—seriously—why bother whispering?”

  “Jesus Christ. I know you can hear us. But give the girl an illusion of privacy. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  Richard snickered, shuffling in his seat. “So am I supposed to act surprised now? Okay. I'll act surprised. Do the two of you want to walk in again, or should we just take it from here?” Richard cleared his throat and proceeded to speak in cue card monotone. “Well if it isn’t Paul and his moribund friend. To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”

  Paul shook his head, smiling. “Cut it out, dickhead. Will you or won’t you?”

  “I’ll do it. I‘ll ‘man up’, to use Lenore‘s eloquent phrasing.”

  Paul stared at him, agape. “WHAT? You hate the clubs.”

  “Not as much as I hate Charles, and I think this should really piss him off.” Lenore thought she had never seen Richard look so happy.

  But Paul looked deflated. “Jesus. I should have known. You're so fucking predictable.”

  “Aw. I'm sorry. Am I messing up Lenore's indoctrination? From what I could tell, it wasn’t going very well to begin with.”

  “She would have come around,” Paul said, shooting her an appraising glance.

  “Yeah,” Richard snorted. “She sounded like she was about to crack any minute. You had her right where you wanted her.”

  “You didn't even give it a chance. You have to let them sweat it out a little. It's better in the long term if she -”

  Richard stiffened. "The long-term? I don't have time for the long term. I'M HUNGRY NOW, PAUL. So let's run the abridged version by her. Lenore, how would you like to head out to a bar, seduce a strange man, and bring him back here to die?”

  Lenore smiled involuntarily. “No thanks.”

  Paul raised his hands in exasperation. “You're not even -”

  “Shh,” Richard said, waving his words away. “I'm getting to the sweat-it-out part. We'll do that right now. Lenore, I will kill you
if you don't bring someone back here. Does that change your mind?”

  “No,” Lenore said, still smiling.

  Richard pointed to his friend gleefully. “See?! See? Are you satisfied now? She isn't going to do it. She'd rather die. And you know why? Because she isn't bat-shit insane like the other creeps you bring around here.”

  Paul rolled his eyes. “Well, now you're just being -”

  “Did you really think I'd tell Lenore that I'd prefer to kill her than hang out with you for a few nights? Why would I do that?”

  Paul studied his friend for a long time as if Richard might sprout wings or manifest a beak. "All this from the man who brought us dinner theater?"

  “Oh please. That was months ago. And I was only kidding. You knew I was only kidding, didn't you, Lenore?”

  Lenore examined her fingernails. “You're a real card, Rich.”

  “Shut up.” He turned to Paul. “How much of an asshole do you think I am?”

  “I don't know. Let's see.” Paul rubbed his chin, giving the question grave consideration. “I'd say you're a really big asshole.”

  “Me? The worst thing I'm going to do to Lenore is kill her. At least I'm not buddying up to her so I can use her as bait. You think you did Angela a favor by getting her to do that? You drove her insane is what you did. I know you think they’re all your little friends, and you want them to have something in common with you, but they aren’t like us. They aren’t meant to do that. That’s not what they’re for. It’s confusing for everyone involved. Christ. Take Charles, for example. He doesn't even know what he is anymore.”

  Paul stood in silence.

  "Find something else to have in common with Lenore. Why don't you develop a dependency on painkillers?"

  Paul stood in uncomfortable, extremely annoyed silence.

  Richard powered through it. “She’s working out pretty well. I’m not trying to replace her. Especially not with one of Charles’s minions. Not to mention, have you noticed how Charles-free the apartment’s been lately? I think I’ve got Lenore to thank for that. We bring another one of his friends in here and he’s just going to start hanging around all the time again, irritating the shit out of me.”

  "Okay…then you'll come out with us tomorrow?" Paul asked, still in shock. "We'll… Umm… We'll swing by and pick you up."

  “That’s fine,” Richard said, getting back to his paperwork. “Now, can I assume we’re done here? Paul, I need you to stick around and go over these documents with me. Lenore, if you want to stay, do it quietly.”

  She did not want to stay and instead headed back to where coffee was waiting. Lenore added an extra packet of sugar to celebrate her victory; because although she would never admit it to Paul, she knew she would have changed her mind.

  ✽✽✽

  Richard insisted on a light feeding before venturing out with Paul and Charles, who waited patiently for him in the foyer. “If I go in hungry, I could lose control,” he explained, walking Lenore into the kitchen. “Listen, when you fill up the glass, do it slowly. Bend the tube so that only a little comes out at a time. If I think you’re getting too low, I’ll tell you to stop, understand? And then when you’re done, go lie down, okay?”

  “Yeah,” she said, nervous rolling up her sleeve. How low was she, exactly? What invisible symptoms warranted such precautions?

  As Richard pulled a glass from the cabinet, Lenore noticed Charles appear in the doorway. “What’s he doing here?” she asked.

  Richard turned around, slamming the glass down in annoyance, “No idea. Goddammit, Charles, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you with Paul?”

  “Paul went upstairs for a minute. I thought I’d keep the two of you company.”

  Lenore shook her head. If she were sitting on a plane and looking out the window, she would see Charles ripping at the wing. “Rich, I don’t want to do this while he watches. He gives me the creeps.”

  Charles leaned against the entrance with his hands in his pockets. “It’s a free country, honey. Besides, I won’t stay long—just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. You do look a bit peaked.” He turned to Richard. “Rich, this is bullshit, man. She’s dying anyway. Just finish her off. I’ll introduce you to my new girl tonight. She’s psyched to be your donor. She don’t have a problem pulling people in, neither. You’d never go hungry, I guarantee it.”

  “I’ve heard you…several times. Now please leave while Lenore and I finish up in here.”

  “Seriously, this is bullshit,” Charles said, retreating down the hall. “She don’t even want to be here.”

  With Charles comfortably out of the room, Lenore leaned over the glass on the counter, bending the catheter in her arm before releasing the spigot. Although Richard customarily waited several feet away during this phase of the procedure, he stood beside her now to monitor the ebb of blood into the container, allowing it to reach the three-quarter mark before instructing her to stop. He then told her to stand still, and slowly, as if trying to pet a wild foal, reached out and placed his hand around her neck. For a brief moment, their eyes met, and there was a terrible connection.

  “You’ll live,” he said, releasing her. “Go sit down, now.” Richard drank as she stumbled toward the table.

  For the first time after a feeding (not counting the seizure-feeding), Lenore felt fatigued and buried her head in her arms. Richard slid a bottle of Gatorade in front of her before walking out of the room. She wondered if she were starting to taste like Gatorade; it seemed to be the only fluid her body could keep in steady supply.

  Five minutes passed with her head on the table. Lenore could hear Paul reenter the apartment and talk of heading out soon, right after Richard shot another email to the attorney.

  The sound of footsteps echoed in the kitchen and stopped beside her. “How you feeling, sweetheart?” Charles asked.

  She looked up, eyelids heavy. “Not so hot. What do you want? I thought you guys were leaving.”

  “Yeah, we are, but I thought I’d hang out with you for a minute…one last time. You think you got it made with these guys, huh?”

  Had Charles looked at her lately? Did it look like she had it made? Suddenly, the kitchen had turned into middle school, and the boy in gym class was torturing her for no reason. “If you have a problem, why don’t you go and bitch to Rich again, because I think that’s really starting to work out for you. I think he’s really starting to listen.”

  “There’s more than one way to skin a cat, Lenore. Keep that in mind.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  Charles ignored her question. “You given any thought to what‘s gonna happen when these guys lose interest? They’re gonna find a new way to play with you, and you might not like it so much. Now, Rich ain‘t gonna tell you this, but I think you should know—sometimes he likes to pop people‘s eyeballs out of their sockets before he runs them through. Just for fun. Ask Paul if you don’t believe me. Haven't you ever wondered why Paul’s so bent on getting you out of the place when Rich kills someone? It's 'cause Rich does it slowly. He has a real good time with it.”

  Lenore tensed. Although Charles was clearly trying to manipulate her, it was working, and she sensed he was telling the truth. She thought back to how long Angela screamed.

  Charles smirked at her with his arms crossed. “Now I figure you got yourself a shit ton of Xanax. Why don’t you do yourself a favor and take enough so you never wake up? Rich ain‘t gonna make it easy on you. He don’t make it easy on anyone.”

  Lenore had nothing to say, but conjured up a satisfying mental image of ripping Charles’s eyeballs out, and then stuffing them into his simpering pie hole.

  “Good talk, sweetheart,” he said, walking off.

  “Good riddance,” she mumbled, setting her head back down on the table and closing her eyes.

  Seconds later, someone patted her cheek.

  “Lenore? Lenore? You okay?” Paul leaned over beside her.

  Now Richard was coming in.

/>   And Charles, looking predictably pissed off. “I thought we were gonna go, Paul. I told Deirdre we’d be there at 10.”

  Paul lifted two fingers for silence and grabbed Lenore’s neck the same way that Richard had minutes before. “Rich, she doesn’t sound too good. How much did you drink?”

  Through closed eyes, Lenore imagined Charles’s excitement.

  “Not that much. Have you seen how small the glasses are? I didn’t even fill it to the top. I think she sounds okay…a little irregular, maybe.”

  “Nah, Rich. She isn’t breathing right. She’s going into shock.”

  “Well, here’s part of the problem,” Richard said casually. “She hasn’t even touched the fucking Gatorade I brought her.”

  There was more patting on her cheek.

  “Lenore? Hey Lenore, you need to drink that Gatorade. You need to get some fluid in you.” She looked up to see Richard twisting off the cap (as if unhinging an eye from its socket) and waving the bottle in her face. “Drink up,” he said. He made her take three large gulps before placing it back down.

  It was freezing in there all of a sudden. “I’m cold,” she murmured, closing her eyes. She felt nauseous.

  “This is bullshit,” Charles declared. “Just kill her. What happens if she dies while you’re out? Then it’s a waste.”

  From the silence in the room, Lenore could tell they were taking his point into consideration, and to her detriment, it was a sensible argument.

  “Yeah, I dunno. I still think she sounds okay. I think she just needs to get back her electrolytes and shit,” Richard said, waxing scientific.

  Lenore pictured him in a lab coat, removing people’s eyeballs with a scalpel.

  Paul came to her rescue. “Rich, why don’t you go on ahead? I’ll hang out with her and make sure she’s okay. I fed the night before last. I can always go tomorrow instead.”