by H. T. Night
“You ever, you know, use them for...” she’d asked flirtatiously.
Normally, I was awkward around girls, but as soon as Annie had asked me that question, I had realized that here was the first girl—no, the first person—to know exactly where to push my buttons. A newfound and unexpected confidence had percolated from within as soon as I’d heard her question. My response had been of few words, but felt natural and filled me with an inner strength I knew I always had but never knew how to express.
I’d nodded and grinned, my brows lowered, suggestive almost. “Yeah, maybe.”
A cold shiver had raced down my spine as if caught in the act of penetration—even though I had never experienced the act of penetration with a woman, up to that point. It rattled me enough to where the confidence Annie had just elicited disappeared suddenly, replaced by the image I always had of my unusual exterior. That of a misshapen, snaggle-toothed wimp who had been bullied and cursed with semi-poverty all of his life…
“Snap out of it,” said the man’s voice.
As his voice grew louder, Annie’s was trailing off. “Aaron... Aaron?”
I felt a familiar cold bite at my ribs. The simmering heat from inside the warehouse had been replaced by a strange sensation. As if I had awakened naked on the sleet-covered hood of my mom’s Oldsmobile.
I turned on my side and a man and a woman stood over me, both in their mid-thirties and both wearing spectacles. The woman sounded like Annie but looked nothing like her.
In my groggy and blurry-eyed state, I asked her, “Annie? Is that you?”
“No,” she said with a smile.
“Aaron, we’re here to give you an assessment. How are you feeling?” asked the man.
I was dreaming and these folks had brought me back to my reality. I answered their question as honestly as I could. “Like crap,” I moaned.
The woman then asked, “Do you need a glass of water?”
“Please.” I moistened my dry lips with my tongue.
“We’re here to ask you some pertinent questions,” the man added. “But we want to know if we can trust you. You’re currently sedated, but we’re worried it might wear off before our initial counseling session is over. We’re here to help you, and if you work with us, you might not be stuck in this small room for long.”
What the hell is going on?
“What do you mean?” I said. I sat up on my bench, feeling as if my head was ready to explode.
The man said, “I’m Dr. Finnegan and this is Dr. Carter. We are both clinical psychologists for the hospital and we have a few questions about your condition, and um, your physical attributes.”
Euphoria had enveloped me for the first time since that last blissful moment I had shared with Annie. The combination of refreshing water entering my lips and the gentle and caring—although clinical—words from someone else made me feel like a human being once again.
Chapter Three
Finnegan looked like a chubby chipmunk. Odd, too, because although his face appeared a little bloated, he had a thin frame. He wore eyeglasses that were an inch thick, and his large eyes ogled at me as if I were an insect placed underneath a giant microscope.
“I feel nauseated,” I said, sitting up and resting my back against the wall. “If I didn’t know any better I would say you’re drugging me to do naughty things to me when I’m sleeping.” I gave the female doctor a ‘what’s up’ nod.
“You only received a half-dose of Thorazine, which is why you can still talk and sit up. The effects should last for another thirty minutes or so,” he said.
“Thora-what?”
“Thorazine. It’s a tranquilizer.”
“You tranquilized me without my consent? Damn, you players don’t mess around. My ass isn’t sore yet, so I’m guessing you went first.”
Dr. Carter, lanky and with a frizzy head of hair, stood taller than Dr. Finnegan. She also came across as bookish, cold, and clinical. She bent down, studying my mouth and said, “You gave up consent when you took Annie Hox’s life, Mr. Parker.”
They reminded me again of my crime as if I had not known what I had done. As if I had not felt a tremendous amount of guilt for my actions, minute after minute, hour after hour, and day after day since I had committed my most dark act. The constant accusations and reminders from attorneys, to the judge and jury, police, and now physicians, made me want to explode. I felt the urge to act as the villain they insinuated me to be.
“And I’d do it again,” I said, with a hiss and a grin.
They wanted a show? Well, I wasn’t going to hold back.
Finnegan and Carter kept quiet, jotting down notes on their clipboards. Faces expressionless, and demeanor detached… did they consider me as a sociopath? Or, full on psychopath? I was a feral killer. I should’ve seen fear in their eyes instead of mild curiosity.
“So, no remorse for your actions, Mr. Parker?” Carter asked.
I didn’t answer. It seemed better, as my previous responses had been slurred, and the lack of keenness was to my detriment.
“You’ve been in isolation for a few days now, and our goal remains to rehabilitate you,” said Finnegan. “Remorse is an important part of that process.”
Of course, I was sorry. Mostly for Annie, but her family as well, especially her mother. Annie had always told me how close they both were. She’d once told me her mom didn’t like me very much, and now, I felt heartbroken that Annie hadn’t followed her own mom’s advice when she’d told her to stay away from me.
After my conviction, I had written a note to my attorney to give to Annie’s mom, pleading for forgiveness and for her understanding that my intention was never to harm her daughter. It was too much to ask from her, but it was sincere, and I had to do it for the sake of my own sanity.
“Are you still biting yourself?” asked Finnegan.
I nodded and made no effort to hide the scars on my arms.
“When was the last time you bit yourself?”
“Last night,” I muttered. “I prefer the nape of a woman’s neck, but my arm was just so appetizing and readily available.
“Why do you harm yourself, Mr. Parker?” Carter asked.
“I’m not, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“I need blood. I’m addicted, I guess. I can’t get it from anyone else in here… might as well drink it from myself. It’s no different than masturbation.”
“I think the inmates here would all disagree with you,” Finnegan remarked.
“Why do you need blood?” Carter asked.
I stared at this idiot and knew he would never understand the way I see the world, but I gave him the answer he sought. “I like the way it tastes. It calms me.”
Finnegan took a closer look at the scars on my arms and the two scabs near my elbow that always had a hard time healing.
“You don’t consider biting yourself harmful, but doesn’t it hurt when you bite your arms over and over again?”
“When I first began, it did. Most of the nerves near my puncture wounds are all dead now, I suppose.”
I noticed Dr. Carter’s upper lip twitched slightly in disgust. She hadn’t completely been desensitized from working in this place.
“How do you see yourself?” Finnegan asked.
“Besides the sexiest vampire of all time?” I flashed her a toothy grin.
“How do you identify yourself as compared to your peers? You do understand that sucking your own blood until you turn pale or pass out isn’t a very common thing to do.”
“I’m not like you or Dr. Carter.”
“Yes, of course, but—”
“I’m a vampire. See my fangs? I love blood. It’s just who I am. It’s how I roll, as the kids say these days.”
Finnegan and Carter lowered their eyes onto their clipboards again and scribbled more notes.
“I’m sure you find the isolation you’re currently in discomforting,” said Finnegan. “Your cooperation and participation in desiring to become well
again can change that.”
“I am cooperating.” I added a smug smirk.
“Look, Mr. Parker, we’re here to do what’s best for you,” Finnegan continued. “I’ve read and studied your case. Read your testimony. We can certainly rehabilitate you enough to where you can enjoy a bit more freedom while you’re here. But we need a lot more willing participation from you.”
Again, I wasn’t crazy. Annie had been sacrificed so I’d realize who I truly was. I sure as hell wasn’t going to advocate that they continue tranquilizing me or administering a pill to change my personality.
“I’m not crazy,” I slurred adamantly.
“Aaron? You actually think you’re a vampire?” Carter sought to confirm it.
I held my tongue and sighed in frustration.
“Vampires are supposed to be immortal,” Finnegan said. “Aaron, your arms are scarred, and you will die if you keep sucking out your own blood. This is not healthy behavior.”
I thought about how it had felt when I held Annie in my arms inside her car the night of her death, and how her warmth and essence had quickly left her body. As soon as I heard her last breath, her body had become cold. I had known immediately that she was gone. If Annie, the only person who ever cared for me, didn’t deserve my restraint, certainly these lab-coated pricks questioning me over and over again didn’t either.
I looked up at Dr. Carter and stared at her skinny neck. Wrinkled at its center, not much to look at. Still, the longer I remained in isolation would surely make the most withered and loose-skinned specimen seem as if it were a delicious, plump drumstick.
I ran my tongue across my canines and suddenly felt a pep run through my body as the last of the Thorazine had finally run out of my system. I made sure they both saw my burgeoning hunger. They recoiled as I stood up spryly from my metal bed.
The physicians took a couple steps back, desperately trying to come off as if they were still both in control of the situation.
“Mr. Parker, we’re here to help,” Finnegan repeated.
“Then don’t try to change who I am!” I barked.
“Aaron,” Carter interjected, shaking her head. “Listen, calm down.”
“I was born with these fucking teeth. You can’t change me!”
“Then you’re going to be in isolation for the rest of your life.” Dr. Finnegan backpedaled to the cell door with Dr. Carter by his side.
I hated being here, but again, I wasn’t crazy. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life wandering the halls of an asylum like some useless zombie. But thinking about my last night with Annie, her blood pooling at my knees, soaking through the fabric of her car seat, elicited something in me that I could no longer control.
My nostrils flared and my eyes were blinded momentarily as if I had an extra set of primitive eyelids in them, like a white shark. I lunged at Dr. Carter, the fairer of the two, and went straight for her neck. I sank my fangs into her scrawny neck and an orgasmic feeling initially raced through my mouth, then through my chest, eventually settling in my groin. Oh, how I had missed that salty, metallic, flavorful taste.
I opened my eyes and unlatched myself for a breather. Dr. Carter squirmed on the floor and yelled and screamed for help. Suddenly, the room went dark. I didn’t remember being hit in the head with a baton, but it happened. Dr. Carter was no prize, but her raisin-like pencil neck was enough to quench my thirst. Unfortunately for me, it was also the last time my fangs penetrated someone else’s skin.
Shortly after knocking me out, they’d muzzled me. But that wasn’t the worst thing to happen… My teeth, my precious canines, were now officially considered contraband within these walls, and could be removed at any time.
Chapter Four
I was nine years old when I watched Silence of the Lambs on the VCR in our living room. Mom was asleep after coming home from working the swing shift at the Sizzler, and Dad had already left us, so I took advantage of the lack of parenting by watching our collection of R-rated movies.
I saw my first naked woman in a movie called Zapped with Scott Baio. It also taught me what experiencing true fear was like. Adult fear. Hannibal Lecter was no boogeyman; he was evil incarnate. Someone who I never imagined I’d be able to relate to.
Never would I have imagined that I’d be perceived in his light ten years later. The hospital tied me up in a room and made me wear the same exact type of muzzle that Anthony Hopkins wore in the movie. Surely, they saw me as him… Hannibal Lecter. An uncontrollable and ravenous psychopath who needed to be restrained with medieval-like instruments. I’d never intended on killing or maiming Dr. Carter. My intention was not to maul her or tear the skin off her neck. I just needed a taste. A small one. I didn’t get off on dominating another person physically, but she was being a cold, calculating and judgmental bitch. So I’d pounced. Not to mention, she was also closer to me than Dr. Finnegan, and I’d feel weird sucking on some guy’s neck.
I no longer smelled bleach. I missed that smell because the mask I was being forced to wear smelled like rotten meat. I didn’t think they’d ever cleaned the damn thing. Dr. Finnegan and Dr. Carter spoke endlessly about rehabilitation, but the hospital’s protocols, or lack thereof, seemed to support punishment in subtle ways. Contrition required forgiveness and empathy.
Look, I know I’m a selfish beast, but if Finnegan and Carter truly cared about me—and in formally treating their patients—they’d work with the toolset and framework that nature had given me. Being forced to stand, while tied up and muzzled, had me contemplating suicide.
I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, but the bastards always kept the lights on in my room. I had lost track of time. I never knew when it was day or night.
Then came the familiar clang of the metallic door. I had a visitor. As soon as the door opened, Don stepped aside and in walked Frank Scolari, my attorney. He had been appointed to me by the court since I couldn’t afford my own attorney. But I had assumed I’d seen the last of him when they whisked me away to the hospital after my sentencing.
His cologne was an obnoxious scent that I grew to loathe when sitting next to him for weeks in the courthouse. However, in here, with my muzzle’s nastiness, it was most welcome.
He had grown a beard that enhanced his square jaw and thick lips. A handsome fella, Frank was pretty sharp for a public defender.
“Aaron, what have they done to you?” Frank frowned while placing his briefcase on the floor and reaching for my mask.
“Don’t touch him.” Don stood just outside the door.
“It’s my fault. I couldn’t help myself, Frank,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“I fought for you because I thought this was where you belonged.”
“I’d rather be on death row.”
“Believe me, you wouldn’t want to be in prison right now. In prison, there are violent animals waiting to tear you apart. At least here, you have a chance, but you have to work with them.”
“Why are you here anyway?” I asked, my voice muffled.
“Because I truly believe you’re no murderer. But you need help, Aaron. A lot of it.”
“They’re not helping me. I need blood, Frank. I don’t care where it comes from. I’d be willing to show restraint if they gave me some. I don’t care if it comes in a bag or a Dixie cup.”
“Aaron, buddy, no one’s ever going to authorize medicating you with blood.”
“I’ll make do with pig’s blood, cow’s blood, any blood.”
Frank let out a heavy sigh. I could see in his eyes that I wasn’t getting through. Just like everyone else in this sorry excuse for a hospital. They didn’t believe I was truly a vampire.
“Has the medication they’ve given you eased the violent thoughts?”
“You mean what you believe are delusions? How many times do we need to go over this? For the hundredth time, Frank, I’m a vampire! Do you like the taste of blood? Have you tasted your own blood?”
Frank shrugged. “Yeah, but I wouldn’t say that I liked th
e taste of it.”
“Well, to me, it tastes fucking amazing.”
Frank grew frustrated with me and I with him. Despite having my interests at heart, he was starting to piss me off.
“You’re in here for at least 15 years before your next parole evaluation—actually, make it 25 now, since you thought it’d be a grand idea to attack Dr. Carter. You’re in here for a long time, my friend. What is that you want to do with your time here?”
“I want to be myself. Let me be me and I promise I’ll be good. Just give me access to blood and I’ll be a model citizen.”
“Aaron,” Frank said, as he began pacing the room with his hands on his hips. “You’re not going to be given any blood, and you know why.”
“Humor me… Why?”
Frank sighed again, much more deeply this time.
“Because you’re not a freaking vampire. Get it through your fucking thick skull, kid!”
Frank turned away from me, shaking his head.
“Why do you care so much? Why are you here, anyway?”
“I put my career on the line for you, man,” he said. “I’ve made some deals with the D.A. Shit you wouldn’t understand… And now the word’s out about your attack on the doctor. It makes me look like an ass, because I convinced the judge and everyone else that you could be rehabilitated.”
I’d never considered myself an opportunist. But when there was an opportunity that presented itself that could help me quench my bloodlust, I’d be an idiot if I didn’t pounce on it.
“Frank, I didn’t know things were that hairy on the job.”
“What?”
“I’ll make a deal with you. I swear, I’ll be the best patient in Fulton if you can arrange to give me some blood. Once a week even.”
“It’s not happening!” Frank scowled. “Who in the hell do you think you are, Aaron? You think prison is some glorious summer camp where you roast marshmallows and tell ghost stories all day? A twink like you would have a sore ass every waking minute if you were sent to prison. I did you a favor by keeping you out of there… so get over yourself!”