Donor

by Elena Hearty

  Lenore's eyes locked onto Paul's. “I want to know what you think.”

  He ran his hands over his face. “Oh man, here we go. What do I think? I think I am what I am, and you are what you are, and we should both try to remember our places. Crap. That didn‘t come out right at all…”

  “I think it probably came out perfectly.”

  "No, no," Paul said, shooing the words with his hand like an improperly formed smoke ring. "Let's try that again." He closed his mouth for a moment and opened it again after much deliberation. "I respect you as a person. And I think of you as my friend. But you belong to Rich, and if I traded you for Charles you'd belong to me. And I'd do whatever I wanted with you. I certainly wouldn‘t let you go."

  Lenore turned her attention back to the magazine in her lap and stared intently at an ad for collectible action figures. “That didn’t sound any better the second time around.”

  “Yeah, I should have quit while I was ahead…or less behind.” Paul lit a smile, which was quickly extinguished by Lenore‘s silent fumes. “Oh get over it. You know too much. You’ve seen too much. I know it sounds melodramatic, but it’s true. We can't just pack your bags and call you a cab and say, 'Goodbye, Lenore. Sorry about the kidnapping.' I shouldn’t have to spell that out for someone as smart as you.”

  “So back to the trade. What does it mean, exactly? Is it just who gets to kill me?”

  Paul grinned. “Oh, that's certainly part of it. But I wouldn't do that right away. I'm not through with you quite yet.”

  “So what would you do with me?”

  “I don't know. I hadn't thought about it. I guess I'd keep you up here.”

  “Would we have an arrangement?” she asked, motioning to the catheter in her arm.

  "Oh, definitely. You'd have to earn your keep. But you could ditch the tube; it isn't my style. With Charles gone, I guess I'd need a replacement, but I don't think you're cut out for the club scene, no offense. You don't strike me as much of a people person."

  Lenore looked embarrassed for a moment like Paul had guessed what color of underwear she was wearing. "I know I'm not," she sighed. "I can't help it."

  “Why would you want to help it? I think it's great. I think you're like those perfect machines you're so fond of collecting. Just look at how well you've adapted to your present situation. Take Lenore away from the world, and she still works. I think that's huge. There's something to be said for not needing to be plugged in.”

  Lenore smiled at Paul, wishing she had something wonderful and insightful to say to him in return. But what was there to say? Hey Paul, you're not as mean as that other vampire. I think it's awesome that you only kill people some of the time when you can justify it to yourself. Nice comic book collection.

  Paul continued. “I think what I'd have you do would probably be a lot easier than what Charles does, anyway. Women have a particularly easy time luring men back to -”

  Their conversation was starting to sound awfully familiar. “No way. Forget it. You know how I feel about that idea. Besides, wouldn't you have to start killing people again?” For someone who claimed not to take lives, Paul seemed fairly open to the alternative.

  "Well, I can't just keep you here as a pet." Paul shook his head. "You know what? This is stupid. There's no point in arguing about it because I'd never make the trade to begin with. I'd never sell Charles out like that, even though I'm sure he thinks I've sold him out already. Everything's fucked now, you know. Rich expects me to kill him."

  “But you won't?” Lenore wondered if Paul could hear the disappointment in her voice.

  Paul shrugged. “I don't know what I'm going to do, to tell you the truth. I'm buying time right now while I figure that out. The way I see it, I've got two options. The selfish choice would be to let Rich have him. That's perfect for me because I don't want to kill Charlie and I'd get you in the deal as a bonus. I could probably even talk Rich into letting Charles be his donor; he might not have to die right away. But none of that's really in Charlie's best interest. The best thing I could do for him is to kill him myself, but that's almost too horrible to think about. I-I wouldn't eat him, you know. I wouldn't want to… to enjoy it."

  Lenore nodded, thinking that she would not have to eat Charles to enjoy killing him. “You said you've known him since he was seventeen?”

  “Yeah.”

  "How on earth did you get mixed up with a seventeen-year-old?" Lenore tried to imagine a scenario in which the answer to this question was not totally creepy, and found herself drawing a perpetual blank.

  “I hang out around high schools.” Paul said this with such deadpan that Lenore at first did not know what to make of his statement. Then he started snickering. “I didn't know Charles was seventeen when I first met him. He was just another guy hanging out at the clubs. You know that Rich used to come out with me, right?”

  “No, but okay.”

  “Well, the whole reason I got into the club scene was so I didn’t have to kill anyone. Rich was the opposite; he went there looking for full kills. He just loves finishing people off.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “Finding full kills in the club scene can get complicated, though, because these people have jobs, social lives, etc. It isn’t easy to make them disappear. So it’s kind of like a challenge. It’s kind of like a game. You have to convince the person to cut all ties, to essentially do all of that work for you.”

  “How?”

  “You promise to turn them. You earn their trust and tell them that they’re special, basically.”

  “You’ve done this?”

  “Yes, of course.” Paul met Lenore's eyes, grinning. “I hope you don’t think less of me.”

  “I don’t really think that’s possible.”

  “What a relief. Anyway, I’d say something like, ‘Lenore, you fascinate me. You are too beautiful and unique to grow old and die with the rest of these mortals. I wouldn’t be able to bear it. Let me turn you.’ And, of course, I’ve just told you exactly what you want to hear, and you’re chomping at the bit.”

  “And I run out and cancel all of my credit cards and quit my job.”

  “Oh, it’s so much worse than that. Cut ties with your family, your friends, and then I want you to lay low for a few weeks. It’s such a scam. These poor people give up everything to die for us. Rich was amazing at running this game on people. He can be pretty charming when he wants to be.”

  Lenore raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

  “Just trust me on that,” Paul chuckled, reading her expression. “Anyway, Rich told me to come down to his place one night because he had two full kills—a guy and a girl—trapped in his basement. I figured they were dead anyway, so I might as well eat.”

  Over the past few months, Lenore had noticed that many of Paul's stories started out this way, and that 'I figured I might as well eat' was tantamount to 'once upon a time'.

  “When I got down there, Rich had already killed the girl, and there was Charles, sobbing over her in the laundry room. And I realized they were just kids. I don't kill kids. Neither does Rich, for that matter, but we have differing opinions on how young is too young.”

  “Hang on. What's your limit?” Lenore pictured Paul carding his victims, demanding a valid photo ID.

  “My limit?” Paul shrugged. “I don't know. It's not like I have a specific age in mind. Seventeen's a little young to die, don't you think? Anyway, Rich and I got into a huge argument about what to do with Charles, and I convinced Rich to let me have him. I told Charles we’d turn him, but he was too young, and to give it more time. I told him he was in training, basically.”

  “Wait. He was cool with you after you killed his girlfriend?”

  “He was upset, but—in his mind, at least—she just didn't make the cut. I think he was happy to sacrifice her, to tell you the truth. Charles has followed me around ever since that night, and I've taken him under my wing. Rich has never liked him, though. Every year, Charlie gets older and Rich asks me if h
e's still too young to die. I joke around about killing him all the time, but I'd never actually do it. After twelve years, he's become like family to me. I can't turn my back on him.”

  Staring at the patterns on the sofa cushions, Lenore privately concluded that Paul's story was marginally less creepy than what she had originally anticipated. Or maybe it was more creepy. The jury was still out.

  “No matter what I do, I'm going to lose him,” Paul went on, his face crumbling. “I can't believe how badly I fucked him over tonight. I wish there was some way to make it up to him. He's like my brother. He's like my baby brother. Whatever he’s become, it’s my fault; I made him this way.”

  Paul met Lenore's eyes, frowning, waiting for her to respond. Unfortunately, if he was looking for either sympathy or compassion, she was fresh out of both. “What do you think he'd want you to do?” she asked finally, settling on the most neutral response imaginable.

  The question hung in the air for several seconds, prompting the cogs in Lenore's mind to start tackling the problem themselves, even though she had no real interest in finding the answer. What would Charles want? What had Charles wanted all along? She smiled when she realized that it was probably something to her benefit as well.

  “He'd want me to let him go,” Paul said, interrupting her revelation. “I wish that was an option. Kill him or give him to Rich. They're both such shitty options.”

  "Then make a third," Lenore said, wide-eyed, marveling in the elegance of her own solution.

  He paced in front of the sofa. “There isn't a third.”

  “Yes, there is. Turn him.”

  “How is that a third option?” Paul asked, nearly slipping on a magazine as he paused in front of her.

  “Wouldn't that be a good way to make it up to him? Isn't that what Charles has been waiting for? Isn't that his dream?”

  “Yeah, but Rich would never go for it. Not in a million years.”

  Lenore leaned forward on the sofa. “Didn't you say it was a death sentence? Rich hates him. Don't you think he'd risk it?”

  Paul furrowed his brow. “That's an interesting angle, I'll give you that.” His lips formed a half smile. “I take it that's why you're so keen on the idea?”

  “I want him dead. I don't think you'll go through with it otherwise.”

  “Fair enough. But what if it works?”

  "He'd have what he wanted. Why would he bother me anymore? Either way, you'd have to replace him with someone new. Hopefully, you'd find someone who's willing to go to the store for me, who's willing to find supplements for Rich when I'm low."

  “So everyone gets what they want here? Rich plays the odds that Charles won't make it, Charlie gets his shot at immortality, and you win either way?”

  “Yeah, I think that sounds about right.”

  Paul shook his head. “Do you know anything about turning someone?”

  Other than that Charles would almost certainly die? “No.” Everything else was likely to qualify as a minor detail.

  “Well—let me just tell you—it's messy, and it takes about a week. Lots of people have to die. We're talking five or six victims here, minimum. Do you want all that blood on your hands? It's a little much for even me.”

  Lenore frowned. “Why do you need all those people?”

  “Because Charles would need to feed almost constantly in the beginning, or he starves to death. That's why people usually don't make it. They can't keep up. I've seen people drink and drink and drink and they still can't get enough blood into their system to survive. Jesus Christ, it's a nightmare. And then there's me, of course. I'll have to give Charlie some of my blood every few hours or so, and then I'll need to feed. I'll go through two or three victims on my own. It's like a horrible cycle of death.” Paul chuckled. “Now that I think about it, Rich could probably get into the idea.”

  Lenore made a face. It did sound awful. And it did sound like something Richard would enjoy.

  Paul smiled at her. “Doesn't sound like such a great idea anymore now, does it? Do you want to be stuck in the basement while all of that is going on around you?”

  “Why would you do it at Rich's place? Why wouldn't you do it up here?”

  “Furnace.”

  Lenore nodded. Perhaps it was even better that way. Charles dying in the basement, completely at her and Richard's mercy. The idea had potential.

  Paul pursed his lips. “I think I might run this idea by Rich after all. It's not a bad compromise.”

  A terrible thought crept into Lenore's mind. “If you went through with it, you'd have to promise me that I wouldn't be—that I wouldn't be used for it. If Charles runs out of blood—if you run out of victims—I don't want to be thrown in to keep him alive.”

  “You won't go to Charles. I'd kill him before I let him have you.”

  “I don't want to go to you, either.” Lenore stared at the ground, picturing herself atop a stack of bodies in the laundry room, collateral damage in the wake of her elegant solution.

  "Hey, look at me, kiddo," Paul said, placing his hand on her shoulder. "I wouldn't do that to you. You know I wouldn't do that to you, right?"

  “You aren't the same person when you're hungry. Neither is Rich.”

  “Jesus, give me a little credit here. I'm hungry right now and I'm not touching you.”

  “But you're thinking about it.”

  “I am thinking about it,” Paul said, turning away from her, glancing around the room as if a more suitable topic might spring forth from the pile of clothes on the floor like a benevolent geyser. “Hey, you know what I did?” he asked finally, gesturing to his TV. “I recorded that movie you recommended to me the other day. The one about the guy and his old mother and the zombies? You want to watch it with me?”

  Lenore nodded, smiling, grateful for the change in subject. “I think you're really going to like the lawnmower scene.”

  ✽✽✽

  But she was asleep long before the lawnmower scene and woke to the feel of warmth on her skin. Lenore stirred to see Paul sitting beside her, sleeping, using the far arm of the sofa as a headrest. Beams of light poured in through his oversized living room windows, bathing them both in the AM sunrise.

  “Paul?” she whispered.

  He squinted his eyes and looked up at her. “What?”

  “I thought you couldn't stand the sunlight. Should I cover you up?”

  “I said we don't like it,” he replied, lifting his head. “It's irritating is all—like silver—but my windows are UV coated. I get sun in here all the time.”

  "Oh," she mumbled, jealous. This was the first time she'd seen the sun in months; for all she knew, she might never see it again.

  Paul shifted into a sitting position, smiling at her. “If I had started bursting into flames would you have tried to help me?”

  Lenore thought about it for a moment and nodded. “You saved my life last night. I would have returned the favor.”

  He shook his head, still smiling. “I think that's got to be the dumbest thing I've ever heard. If you ever get the chance to get away, you take it. But thanks, I appreciate the thought.” Paul pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “Rich has probably texted me from his laptop by now.”

  Lenore closed her eyes, sliding back into the sofa. “I don't know how you guys ever managed before modern technology,” she yawned.

  Paul chuckled. "It was a pain in the ass. Rich would literally knock on my door if he wanted to tell me something." Paul keyed several buttons before shutting his phone again, saying, "We need to get back down there. Rich has sent me about fifteen texts." He grimaced. "And a couple of pictures that he took with his webcam."

  Lenore was pretty sure she didn't want to see the contents of those messages.

  ✽✽✽

  They took the utility stairs to the basement so that Paul could avoid the sun. An eerie silence hung in the air of Richard's foyer, only disturbed by the sound of Paul locking the front door behind them.

  “Where are they?” Lenor
e whispered, afraid to break the stillness.

  Paul took a few steps forward, craning his neck. “I can hear Charles breathing in the laundry room,” he said, starting briskly down the hall.

  Lenore followed, but stopped at the fork in the corridor, saying, “I'm not going to hang out for this, but good luck. I'm going to take a shower.”

  “OH NO YOU'RE NOT,” rang through the walls. “PLEASE JOIN US IN THE LAUNDRY ROOM, LENORE. CHARLES HAS SOMETHING HE WOULD LIKE TO SAY TO YOU.”

  Lenore and Paul exchanged an eye roll as they headed toward the sound of Rich's voice.

  The blood door hung wide open and looked to have been repainted over the course of the past several hours, with fresh crimson beads starting to dry around the handle. Richard stepped around from behind it, looking like the gory punchline to an old joke that Lenore remembered from childhood: what's black and white and red all over? A vampire, after feeding on a victim and burning the body.

  “You guys missed out on all of the fun,” Richard smirked, rubbing some ashes between his thumb and forefinger. “Deirdre turned out to be a lot spunkier than I'd given her credit for.” He turned his head toward the inside of the laundry room. “Didn't she, Charles?”

  A low whimper emanated from the doorway, and Richard smiled, waving Lenore and Paul inside.

  At first, Lenore could not make out Charles's location in the dimly lit space, but finally glimpsed the figure of a man curled up in the corner. He was breathing slowly, covered in grime, and appeared unable to move. Something looked strange about the way he was positioned on the floor.

  Richard beamed at her. “Hey roommate, Charles has something he's been wanting to say to you. He'd get up, but I've dislocated all of his limbs, so you'll just have to excuse him.” Richard kicked the mound of flesh in the corner. “WELL? LET'S HEAR IT, CHARLES.”

  The mound moved a little. “S-s-sorry. I'm s-sorry.”

  “That's more like it,” Richard said, looking deeply satisfied. “Charles wanted to tell you he's sorry.”