by Megan Duncan
She always made sure the stairs were clear of snow, and every once in a while she’d leave a basket of fresh cooked Italian food on my doorstep. I worried about a woman her age walking up and down my steep steps, but she wouldn’t hear of it when I told her she didn’t have to.
My lock clicked open as I turned the key. I sighed in relief as I walked into the living room of my apartment, tracking snow all over the entry. I shut the door behind me, latching the chain lock even though the worst crimes ever committed in this town were probably parking tickets. In all honesty, I wasn’t locking it to keep the outside world out, but more me from the outside world. I was always overly cautious in that area. I never wanted to risk an accident. I didn’t want to hurt anyone anymore.
I’d buried that monster, or…I was trying to.
I stowed my sunglasses inside the breast pocket of my wool jacket where I always kept them, and hung it on the coat rack by the door. Kicking off my shoes as I walked into the kitchen, I pulled open the refrigerator door and pushed past the food I kept for appearances before clutching the thing I craved most. My favorite mug sat in the sink from before my shift, so I gave it a good rinse before filling it with the crimson liquid, and popping it in the microwave. I pressed in the exact time, one minute forty-five seconds, not too hot and not too cold.
My body began to shudder both from hunger and anticipation. It was getting harder and harder to manage it. The more I fought my natural urges the more I needed to eat. No one told me this would happen, but then again, I didn’t know of anyone who had attempted what I had. Did that make me crazy?
Several of the elders thought I was going through a phase, they even thought it was amusing and were certain I would return to my kind when I realized how pointless my search for the meaning of life and death was; how futile it was to fight what came naturally. Maybe they were right. Could I really be more than what I was? It has been years since I started this journey and I have yet to find the answers I seek.
The ding of the microwave broke through my questioning thoughts and brought me back to the task at hand. The smell was intoxicating as I opened the door and laced my fingers around the porcelain handle. I brought the life liquid to my lips and sipped greedily, enjoying its warmth as it slid down my throat filling my insides with energy and strength. After finishing half the contents I felt my body calm, and my nerves ease away as I licked the remnants off my lips. I could relax now.
My apartment wasn’t much, but it was spacious. There was plenty of room for my books, which I usually didn’t have in the city. I’d been able to read novels that had long been hidden in boxes because I never had room to display them. Now I had nearly an entire wall. I loved just looking at the spines and recalling the stories that lay within. I felt like I’d lived a thousand lives just looking at them, and not just the poor excuse for one that I was stuck in for all eternity.
My current read, Pride and Prejudice, lay open atop my end table. I had time to get through a few chapters before going to sleep. I set my mug on the coffee table and walked over to the fireplace. It had been a while since I last lit it, so I swept away the remaining ashes and placed two logs on the grate. The wood sparked to life instantly, filling the room with a warm glow and the wonderful sound of a crackling fire.
I slid across my brown, leather couch and grabbed my book as I rested my head against the arm of the sofa. Reading had always been one of my passions, and after well over two hundred years of life, I hadn’t gotten tired of it. The pages were as familiar to me as anything I’d ever known. Even though I could recite the stories word for word, I still scanned the chapters with excitement as if I were reading them for the first time. I sipped from my mug as I turned the pages lazily. Mr. Bingley was giving a ball at Netherfield. I missed balls. The eighteenth century had been my favorite era, and I wished I could live an eternity in the past, rather than passing through time as I was. What I wouldn’t give to be surrounded by the people who so loved the art of life. Where music, language, and knowledge were so well-regarded. Men were true gentlemen and women were poised ladies. I know that by current standards I sounded like a romantic sap, and maybe I was, but life had been happier for me then. Even though I was afflicted with an insatiable appetite for blood, there was still a measure of civility. Perhaps that is why I grew so fond of Hazel, she reminded me of the people and life I had once adored.
Who I was had died a little after I’d left Europe. My master sought to conquer America, and his thirst for power soon became my own. Gaining social status hadn’t been enough for him anymore, so I followed obediently.
A familiar nudge brushed against my feet. I dropped the book to my chest to spy Tom; the stray, black cat I’d fostered, rubbing against my toes. I smiled at the mangy creature, wiggling my toes at him. I’d never liked cats before, but he’d grown on me somehow. He showed up not long after I moved in and I haven’t been able to get rid of him since.
“Hello, Tom. Catch any mice today?” I asked him as he strolled up the side of the couch to begin rubbing his head on the corner of my book. “Got an itch?” I scratched his head vigorously, and a purr erupting from him like a volcano made me chuckle.
I sighed as the fire began to die down. I was looking forward to sleeping, but not so much to what was in store for me the next day. I set the book back on the end table, taking care to save the place I had left off. There wasn’t much left of the small fire so I poked at the embers until there was nothing remaining but flickering ashes.
Tom had gained a lot of weight since he’d weaseled his way into my heart, and I heard his paws thudding heavily against the floor as he made his way to my room. He knew when it was time to sleep. I glanced back into the living room when I had reached the doorway, a strange feeling coming over me. I always felt like I’d forgotten something, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t remember what it was. There was something missing in my life, in my unending existence, and I was determined to figure it out.
I stripped out of my scrubs down to my briefs, and washed my face. The prickle of a beard tickled my fingers. I groaned not wanting to shave, even though I hated having facial hair. Chest hair was enough. But maybe I should grow a beard? It would mean less time getting ready and no more shaving nicks. Over two hundred years of practice and I still managed to cut myself.
I glared at my reflection in the mirror, trying to imagine what I would look like with one. No, I’d look hideous. I already had thick, brown hair and solid brows above deep set eyes. I would look like some kind of lumberjack or caveman if I grew a beard! Hell, I could be big foot! I was a lean six-foot three, with broad shoulders and tan skin despite my…condition, and vibrant blue eyes that contradicted the monster within me. I was once told my eyes were my greatest weapon, and they had been. I lured many women with a single gaze, but that did nothing for me now. The endless, mindless killing bored me. I wanted something more. No amount of blood or death ever filled the void inside me, yet I still craved it. Maybe I was a monster, but I needed to believe I could be more than that.
I’d managed it so far, so that had to mean it was possible.
Right?
I flicked off the light and crawled into bed; the old wood creaking under my weight as I shifted under the covers trying to get comfortable. As always, as soon as I hit the pillow I was wide awake. I looked enviously at Tom, who lay at my feet sound asleep. How did he do it? He could fall asleep in seconds, but me…it seemed to take me hours. I could never shut my head up. Over time I’d learned tricks that helped me calm my thoughts and began focusing on taking deep breaths and clearing my mind. Meditation had done wonders for me. If it weren’t for meditation I might have never slept again. The nightmares and demons inside wouldn’t have released their hold on me otherwise. It had helped me find peace, even if it was only temporary.
~
2
The Package
I wasn’t sure when I’d fallen asleep, but by the haze that clung to my body I knew it had been too late. I’d look like shit all day,
which wasn’t a good thing, considering what I had to do. The alarm clock on my bedside table glared brightly at me. The neon numbers pierced my eyes with the intensity of the sun so I snatched a dirty shirt from the floor to cover it.
Five in the morning.
The only thing good about that was that it was still dark outside. Another reason why I loved winter. The nights were longer, and that meant fewer headaches from being in the sun.
Tom meowed from his usual post at the window seat, no doubt watching the activity of the people on the street below. This town was full of early risers, eager to start their day despite the weather. I didn’t share their enthusiasm. Especially not when I had a drive to the city to make, but I needed supplies and that was my only option.
I got ready as quickly as I could; only out of desire to get it over with. The faster I could get there, and back, the better. I tugged on a pair of jeans, buttoned up a blue flannel shirt and dug my black Dickies jacket out of my closet. When I opened the fridge I was sad to see I was down to my last bag, even though I already knew I was. I always waited till the last one to make the drive. I just didn’t want to listen to their bitching, and judgments on how ridiculous I was. How I was an embarrassment to the species.
“What the hell do they care what I’m doing?” I growled, tearing open the bag and pouring it into a new mug. This one I’d bought at a craft store in town, it didn’t have a witty anecdote, or amusing image. I picked it because it was handmade. It had an unusual egg-like shape and the glazing on it was an interesting jade flecked with blue. It was completely unique; like me. Except, some would argue that I was more of a freak than anything. A unique freak, that’s what I was. I shoved the mug into the microwave causing the contents to spill on the glass tray before I slammed the door shut.
I stewed at the dining table, staring out the window as I waited for the microwave to finish heating up my breakfast. A light snow was falling, and the sky was blanketed in a gloomy, grey haze. It was perfect weather to suit my mood. I was always on edge when I drove to the supply bank. Always. And of course, my mouth always seemed to get me in trouble, but there didn’t seem to be anything I could do to keep their comments from pissing me off. They thought they owned me because they controlled the thing I needed. Maybe, in a way, they were right, but I would never admit it to them. I just didn’t understand how they could criticize me when they provided me the means to sustain myself while I did what I wanted. I’m not the only one who doesn’t drink live. Not the only one by far. Yet, my reasons for doing so were far more entertaining to them than anyone else’s.
I gulped down my breakfast, licking my lips clean before stomping my feet into my boots. “The sooner you get this over with, the better, old man,” I said to myself, trying to mute my anger. No need to be fuming before I got there. There would be plenty of time to do that once I arrived.
Tom skittered out between my legs as I opened the door. “Stay out of trouble!” I called after him as he dashed down the stairs, and pounced his way deeper into the alleyway. I had no clue what he did all day when he went out, but he was always waiting for me when I got home.
I sped down the steps, taking them two at a time and jumped into the driver’s seat of my SUV. The engine sprang to life, but this time I didn’t wait for it to warm up. I rolled down the window and used my sleeve to brush off the frost before putting it in gear and backing out into the street. Luckily, I already lived toward the edge of town so I didn’t have to drive back down Main Street to get on my way. The people in this town were very nosy, and I didn’t need them getting curious about my comings and goings.
The freeway led north, exactly the direction I needed to go. About two hours and I’d be there. I switched on the radio and scanned through it till I found something that annoyed me the least. The quality of music just wasn’t what it used to be. Although, the local bands in the big city had always been good, they, of course, never made it onto the radio for that very fact. I liked the singer whose voice belted through my speakers when she first hit the music scene, but the mainstream had slowly turned her into something else. At least she stilled played the guitar, but her cookie-cutter lyrics could never compare to the matchless, soulful words she’d once written herself. It was sad really. Everyone wanted to be different, but you would never be truly accepted unless you were like everyone else. Story of my life.
I arrived at my destination quicker than I realized. I must have zoned out most of the drive, which wasn’t unusual for me. The city streets were filled with cars, honking motorists and a continual stream of pedestrians. The supply bank looked like nothing more than a meat packing plant on the outside. Passers-by would think nothing of it. The cover was rather ingenious, and I had to admit it was impressive. Valley Farms Meat Company was displayed in bold lettering on the exterior of the old, red, brick building. It had once been a brewery, which served its current purposes perfectly.
There was an open parking space right in front, just off the street, so I pulled in, lightly bumping the curb. “I can do this. I just need to keep my cool.” I gripped the wheel, turning my knuckles white, and ground my teeth together. My anger had once been one of my greatest attributes, but now it was one of my greatest enemies. I focused on my breathing, until my chest rose and fell steadily. The tension in my fingers released their grip on the steering wheel and with one swift, solid movement I was out of the SUV and marching toward the door.
“Hello, William,” the woman behind the counter said, in a snide tone as I shut the glass door behind me.
“Hello, Viola.” I clenched my jaw as I said her name to keep from saying something offensive. I had to behave myself, even though I wanted to verbally slap her smug, over made-up face. She always acted like she thought she was better than me, which I could never understand. She was nothing more than a glorified secretary. A human familiar that was made aware of our kind only to do a service for us. She was, no doubt, hired only for that very purpose and when they were done with her she would be disposed of. Probably in this very building, and sold off to the highest bidder. Of course, she would never know that. I was certain she thought they’d soon realize her potential and let her be turned to rise through the ranks of our kind.
I almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
“I’m here for pickup.” I leaned against the counter, raising my eyebrows at her as she sat idly, filing her nails. “Are you going to let them know I’m here?” I tried to keep my tone flat, even though the very sight of her vexed me.
She flung her fiery, red hair over her shoulder and glared at me. “Tell them yourself.” She pressed a button hidden under the counter, and the door toward the back buzzed open. I avoided her stare as I made my way to the door and tried to ignore it when I heard her call me a freak under her breath.
She’d be singing a very different tune if I hadn’t strayed from the narrow path of my kind.
They all would.
I entered into a long, door-lined hallway that resembled a hotel. The space was lit dimly with antique sconces that hung between each doorway. Red wallpaper was plastered on the thin walls, and pricy Persian rugs stretched below my feet in an attempt to make the establishment appear to be more than it was. Everyone knew what really went on, no need to hide it with expensive furnishings. I passed by each closed entrance, hearing growls and moaning coming from within. They used these rooms for live feedings and it rattled my nerves every time I had to walk past them. I was like an alcoholic walking through a bar. My pace quickened to get me to the end of the hall and the steel door that led to the warehouse. I had to hold my breath until my fingers finally closed around the cold handle and I pushed it open.
The warehouse was swarming with activity. It was hard not to think of it as a mad scientist’s lab. Metal drums, much like wine barrels, lined one of the walls. They each displayed a digital keypad signifying the contents, maintaining pressure and quality. The variety available here was what made this place so popular. They had everything a
ny of my kind would ever need; from human blood to exotic animals, young blood, or old blood and even virgin blood. If you had the extra cash you could even spring for plasma, which was considered a delicacy when extracted from the right donor.
Scientists and Extractors walked around in lab coats, striding from table to table, rambling on about their work. Creating our food supply had become an art. The better the quality the more some were willing to pay for it. It was a competition between both the bank owners and those who worked in them; though the only ones profiting from it were the owners. Those who worked for a blood bank were sought after with aggressive tactics. It was an honor to be bought, and they would brag to their colleagues about how much it cost to acquire their services. I just didn’t understand it. How could anyone be happy about being owned? I averted my eyes from their curious glances. My kind may have been in existence for thousands of years, but lately it seemed we’d been falling away from what our ancestors meant for us. I wasn’t perfect. I'd fallen prey to the intoxicating lure of the animal inside me. Taking what I pleased when I pleased, but I had chosen a different path now. A better path. If only the others could see it too.
Further in were rooms where the Extractors spent most of their time. Windows revealed small, sterile spaces with only a chair and equipment to drain the donors. Tubes dangled from the ceiling, coiling toward large cylinders that would clean the blood and prepare it for packaging. Only humans were brought to this location, animals were utilized elsewhere. The quality of animal blood was far lower, and the taste was ungodly, but I’d seriously considered it as an alternative. Although, straight from the source it was comparable to human blood; after storage and transportation it quickly grew stale. Only the blood of exotic animals was worth buying, but it was almost as expensive as everything else. At least I knew that business with an animal bank would be bearable. They didn’t care who their clientele was, or what they wanted the blood for, as long as they paid in cash.