by Kat Bellamy
To be fair, hours earlier, he hadn’t thought it was something he was capable of, either.
“Well, I’m afraid you just found out in the worst possible way why ghouls and humans don’t mix. At least, not in a family setting,” said Stan. “There’s no easy way to explain any of this, so I’ll be frank. You’re not human and you never have been. Once your first shift hits, there’s no going back.”
“Is that why I…changed?” Colt asked, looking down at his hands.
“I’m afraid so. Like I said, whenever we become excited, certain physical changes happen. The first time you feel the urge to feed, the chemical shift makes it almost impossible to control. That’s why it’s usually a family affair.”
“The First Hunt was invented to be a controlled way to let fledglings become accustomed to their new instincts,” Susan said. “You need guidance from experienced hunters who can keep you from losing control and pull you back if that happens.”
“What I did to that man… You all do that?” The words stuck in his throat. “You...eat people?”
Susan gave him a patient smile. “I know it’s a lot to process for someone who was raised by humans. It’s a lot even for some of us. Ronnie’s known what he is his whole life, and he still has a hard time with it.”
Colt looked up at the ceiling. “He kills people, too?”
“Oh, no,” Susan said quickly. “He’s not old enough to require that kind of sustenance yet, but not all ghouls hunt. Some of us find that sort of thing distasteful and prefer to get our meat through more....ethical sources. Most purchase meat from hunters.”
“Hunters?”
“Ghouls who don’t mind getting their hands dirty,” said Stan, smiling when he saw the look on Colt’s face. “It’s not all that different from being willing to eat meat you buy at the grocery store if you don’t have the stomach to kill and prepare it for yourself, is it?”
“That’s different. We’re talking about people, human beings.”
“I doubt that would be a very convincing argument to a cow,” mused Stan.
Susan gave him a look. “There are other ways of doing things, dear. We have networks in hospitals and morgues. Places we can get meat without killing at all.”
“So you’re what, the ghoul equivalent of vegans?”
Susan’s cherry red lips quivered in amusement. “I suppose you could say that.”
“And what does that make me?” Colt asked, reminding himself he didn’t have the right to judge anyone’s diet when he’d just ripped a man’s throat out.
“Young,” said Stan. “Inexperienced. I know it probably feels like you’re living a nightmare, son, but tonight could have gone a whole lot worse for many more people. Innocent people. Be glad your only casualty was someone who won’t be missed.”
“Yeah,” Colt muttered. “I guess I’m just lucky.”
“More than you realize,” Susan said gently. “Ghouls keep a tight rein on things. We have to in order to live among humans without detection. There are teams of Enforcers who kill any ghoul who risks exposing the rest of us, and I’m afraid an unaffiliated fledgling such as yourself would be an easy target.”
“Why did you help me?” Colt asked, looking between them.
“We may not be human, Colt, but we’re not all monsters,” said Stan. “Altruism exists among our kind the same as it does theirs. It’s all a matter of perspective.”
“Thank you,” Colt said, his voice still hoarse from all the unnatural sounds it had produced that night. “I can’t say I understand, but I’m glad you came along before I could hurt anyone else.”
“It could have happened to anyone in your situation,” said Susan. “But the important thing is that you’re not alone now. Stan and I will help you however we can. I know it feels like everything has changed, but you’re still the same person you’ve always been. There’s just another part of you that you’ll have to learn to integrate with your identity.”
“And my parents?” he asked, voicing the question he was afraid to know the answer to. “My friends, my coworkers...is it even safe to be around any of them?”
“It will be in time,” said Stan. “Ghouls aren’t aggressive by nature, not when we feed regularly. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be able to blend in half as well as we do. We don’t tend to take the risk of living with humans, but it is possible to live a normal life with a bit of discipline, and that can be learned.”
“Stan is a surgeon,” Susan said proudly. “There are ghouls at every level of society. As long as we blend in and don’t step on the Moreaus’ toes, we’re free to do as we like.”
“The Moreaus?” asked Colt.
Susan’s face went blank like she hadn’t meant to say the name at all. “Oh, that’s not something you need to trouble yourself with tonight. Just a bit of ghoul politics, but there’ll be plenty of time for all that later, once you’ve had a nice, long rest.”
“You’re welcome to stay the night,” said Stan, standing from the couch to stretch. “In fact, I’d recommend it. Susan already made up the guest room while you were in the shower.”
Colt hesitated. There was still part of him that felt compelled to turn himself in. After all, there was a body out there and surely by then, the police would be looking for the killer.
“Like Ronnie said, if you were to confess to killing that man, nothing good would come of it,” Stan said, resting a hand on Colt’s shoulder. “From the janitor to the coroner, the police station is crawling with ghouls. If you’ve got a death wish, be my guest, but I’d hate to see such a promising young life cut down in its prime for no good reason.”
The prime of what was the question. Colt still wasn’t sure if the Browns were bluffing, but the thought of someone showing up at his parents’ door to announce his death and the morbid circumstance was enough to silence his guilty conscience. It was tormenting him enough as it was.
“That and we could get in trouble for helping you,” Susan said in that tone Renee always used when she was hoping Colt would do the right thing. She even had the doe eyes. It was manipulation at its finest, the way only a mother working in the best interest of her family could manage.
Colt swallowed hard, standing from his chair. “I still don’t know what I’m going to do, but I won’t say anything that could hurt your family. I’m just not sure sticking around is a good idea.”
“Nonsense. Besides, you’ll feel better after a good night of sleep,” Stan said, leading him up the stairs. The music had stopped and the light under Ronnie’s door was out. Stan opened the door to the room across the hall and turned on the light. It was a decent sized room with a nice queen bed, a dresser and a full-length mirror Colt made every effort to avoid looking at.
“Thanks,” Colt said, nodding to Stan. “Have a good night.”
“Try to get some sleep,” Stan said with a smile before closing the door.
Colt sat down on the edge of the bed and just stared at the wall for what felt like hours even though it might only have been for a minute. He finally looked down at his phone and saw the half a dozen missed calls from Jason. He didn’t even have the energy to open the text messages. Not that he trusted himself to reply.
For as long as he could remember, Colt had been able to tell his best friend everything. Now, he didn’t even know what to tell himself.
Chapter 4
The smell of eggs and bacon that greeted Colt on his way downstairs made him pause with his hand on the railing. The fact that he’d woken up in a strange bed was the only thing that kept him from denial about the events of the night before. In the light of morning, it felt like an outlandish nightmare, but the smell of food both made his stomach growl and made him wary about just what might be on the menu.
When he finally got the courage to venture into the kitchen, Susan was at the stove and Stan was sitting at the head of the table across from Ronnie, reading a newspaper while he sipped his morning coffee. They looked like the all-American family, sulking teenager included.
“Morning,” Colt said, eyeing the spread on the table as discreetly as he could. Ronnie’s plate was piled high with toast, eggs and fruit. At first, Colt had assumed that the boy’s stocky build was the result of a taste for human flesh, but it seemed that his appetite for human food might be equally to blame.
When Susan caught Colt’s eye, he realized he’d been caught looking. She gave him a knowing smile and motioned for him to take an empty chair. “Good morning, Colt. You’re looking a bit less peaked!”
“I feel better,” he admitted. “Probably just denial setting in.”
Stan chuckled. “Sometimes, that’s for the best. Fake it ‘till you make it, keep on lyin’ ‘til you’re fine!”
“Ugh, dad,” Ronnie muttered into his juice.
“Help yourself,” Susan said brightly, setting a clean plate in front of Colt.
Colt stared at the plate, then at the food. “Is this...I’m sorry if this is offensive, but is this normal food?”
“Ghouls eat ‘normal’ food, too. But if you’re not in the mood for long pig, I suggest you stay away from the bacon.”
Colt resisted the urge to grimace. What bothered him even more than the fact that Susan was humming while frying up people was the fact that it smelled delicious. Colt glanced back at Ronnie’s plate as he filled his own and realized the boy had skipped out on the bacon, too.
He must have looked for a bit too long because Ronnie shot him a withering glare and bit off another piece of toast. Colt quickly looked away.
There were so many questions Colt wanted to ask that he just hadn’t had the clarity of mind to formulate the night before. To his deep shame, he had slept like a baby. “Is it rude to discuss, uh, ghoul things at the table?”
“Not at all,” Susan said, finally sitting down to join the family.
“How often do you have to...you know?”
“We only have to eat human flesh about as often as a human has to eat in order to live,” said Stan. “Ronnie hasn’t gone through his first shift, so he doesn’t have to eat it at all, but for mature ghouls, it’s best to eat it every few days, at least. It keeps us from getting worked up when we smell blood, which can get ugly fast--quite literally, as you experienced with your own shift. Rather inconvenient to grow claws and fangs on the bus every time someone gets a paper cut.”
“I guess so,” Colt mumbled. “How sensitive are we?”
“Our senses are pretty much the same as any human’s, but blood has a different scent to a mature ghoul,” Stan replied. “It’s like the difference between smelling filet mignon when you’re full and smelling it when you’re half-starved.”
“What about blood? Do I need to drink it, or just eat flesh?”
“Except in very rare cases you might consider a medical condition, blood isn’t required to survive. We cook it out most of the time,” said Stan, taking a bite of bacon. Colt noticed the fact that Ronnie grimaced and looked down at his own plate.
“Blood is like alcohol,” said Susan. “It’s a luxury, not a necessity. There are those of us who don’t partake because it tends to cloud the mind and dull the inhibitions,” she said pointedly, looking right at Stan.
The man cleared his throat and took another sip of his coffee. “Yes, thank you, dear.”
“So the ghouls that do need it. That makes them what, vampires?”
Susan seemed to be trying not to laugh. “I’m afraid they’re not very fond of the term, but yes. Most people do refer to them as vampire variants.”
“Variants?” he echoed.
“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” said Stan. “It’s unlikely you’ll ever run into one.”
“Just for the sake of argument, say I did,” Colt pressed. He was still torn between not believing any of it and wanting to know as much as possible about the bizarre world he suddenly found himself a part of.
“Variants are freaks,” Ronnie said, popping a strawberry into his mouth. “They’re all mutated in some way that makes other ghouls as afraid of them as humans are of us, and the ‘powers that be’ use them to keep us all scared shitless so we’ll fall in line with whatever they say.”
“Ronnie,” Susan scolded.
“It’s the truth. He’s gonna realize how things are eventually, what’s the point of painting a rosy picture?”
Colt sensed a fight brewing, so he decided to change the subject for now. “So, you’d starve if you didn’t eat flesh at all?”
“I’m afraid so. Not a terribly pleasant way to go,” said Stan. “But there’s no need to worry. Ghouls have been in this city ever since it was founded, and there are plenty of ways to get meat without killing humans.”
“Where did this come from?” Colt asked, eyeing the plate of meat. It was looking and smelling better by the minute.
“The morgue,” Stan said casually. “We have a supply chain set up at the hospital. John Does come in all the time, and the bodies can sit for ages if no one comes forward to identify them. Then there are the appendectomies, weight loss surgeries, amputations… we find ways to gather meat that won’t be missed.”
Colt stopped with a strip of bacon halfway to his mouth. He hadn’t even been fully aware of picking it up, but Stan’s explanation stopped him short and curbed his appetite.
“Do we have to talk about this at the table?” Ronnie snapped. He stood and grabbed his plate before stalking up the stairs.
Colt blinked. “Sorry...was it something I said?”
“Don’t mind him,” Stan said, flipping the page of his newspaper.
“I know he doesn’t have to eat flesh because he’s young, but shouldn’t he be used to it by now since you guys do?” asked Colt.
“Most immature ghouls partake before their First Hunt,” Susan said carefully. “Ronnie just has a sensitive stomach.”
Colt stared down at the bacon, willing his own stomach to show a bit of sensitivity. At length, he gave in and took a bite, then finished the piece. It wasn’t as satisfying as the raw flesh had been, still warm with the blood in the mugger’s veins, but it was far more satisfying than the mundane food on the table.
God, he really was sick.
“Some ghouls adjust better than others,” Stan said in a diplomatic tone. “If it doesn’t put you off too much, you’d do well to eat as much as you can these first few weeks, while you’re still getting used to all the changes.”
“There’s more, besides the flesh eating?” Colt asked warily.
“Yes, but I don’t think you’ll find the other changes quite as disruptive,” said Susan. “Ghouls are much stronger than humans. As a fledgling, you’re not quite as strong as an older ghoul, but you can still do things even most Olympians can’t.”
“So, if I eat everyday, I can go back to my life?” Colt asked, afraid to hold out that kind of hope. Maybe it really was denial, but there was something incredibly appealing about the idea of going home and pretending like everything was normal, at least until he could come to terms with the fact that it never would be again.
“That depends,” said Stan. “What is it you do for a living?”
“I’m in construction,” said Colt. “I spend most of the day working outside with a small team.”
Stan stroked his beard and seemed to be considering it. “The only problem I can see is that you might do things that would call attention to your newfound strength.”
“I’ll be careful,” Colt assured him. “But what if there’s an accident? Would the blood make me shift again?”
“It shouldn’t if you’ve fed recently. But it really would be better for you to take some time off,” said Susan. “You’ve been through quite the ordeal.”
“I just want to feel normal,” Colt confessed. “Right now, work seems like the only chance I have of that.”
Susan and Stan exchanged a look. Stan smiled. “I can certainly understand where you’re coming from. I can’t say I think it’s a great idea, but if it makes it easier for you to come to terms with all this, you have my unsoli
cited blessing under one condition,” he said with mock gravitas.
“What’s that?” Colt asked.
“Join us for dinner. Every night for the next week, at least. We’ll send you home with some supplies just in case you need them, but ghouls aren’t meant to live in isolation,” said Stan. “We can’t in good conscience send you back out there on your own.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Colt murmured. “You guys don’t even know me.”
“No, but we’re family all the same,” Susan said warmly. “Maybe not by blood or association, but there are bonds in this world that go deeper than either of those things. You entered this world in the worst way, but I hope we can show you that there’s more to being a ghoul than bloodshed and confusion. With time, we hope you’ll come to find what we have. A sense of community, and a greater purpose.”
That seemed like a lofty goal, but Colt didn’t have the heart to tell her that. He smiled and nodded. “Well, thanks. I’m sure I’m gonna have a lot more questions, so as long as you’re willing to put up with me, I’m happy to come over.”
“Wonderful. It’s settled, then. We eat weeknights at six, weekends at seven,” said Stan, glancing at his watch. “Susan can give you my number in case you need anything between now and then. I’ve got to head to the hospital, but don’t hesitate to call.”
“I won’t. Thanks.”
After leaning in to kiss his wife and say goodbye to his houseguest, Stan was out the door. Susan gave Colt a ride back to his apartment where his truck was waiting out front. He thanked Susan once again for her hospitality and headed up the stairs, pulling his spare key out from under the mat. When he opened the door, he saw that Jason had left his keys on the table. No note.
Colt groaned and got changed for work. Physical labor was exactly what he needed to keep his mind off the far more intimidating task of figuring out how he was going to apologize to Jason.
Chapter 5
Work went far better than Colt had feared. There were no major accidents, other than Evan stubbing his thumb, which was practically a weekly occurrence. Other than finding his pastrami on rye sandwich less appealing than usual, Colt didn’t notice any ghoul-related side effects of his first shift.