Parasite Life

by Victoria Dalpe

  I exhaled slowly, wanting to trust him. “Go ahead.”

  “Thanks. So, I left my father and came here to study art history. That’s when I met Margot. She had this abrasive laugh. She hated it, thought it was ugly. I loved it because it was so . . . unrestrained. She was like Sabrina, like your mother, but unlike them I was attracted to her beyond the blood. I had a college roommate then, like them as well, and he was meeting my needs.

  “When she asked me out that first time I knew I was in trouble. You see, I liked her. I liked her a lot. And after the first date, I loved her. I never realized how intensely our kind could love.” Hugh paused, lost in memory, a soft smile on his mouth. In that flicker I could imagine him young and in love, far from the jaded creature he was now. “Although she was drawn to me like the others, I loved her as an equal from the start. Barely six months into it and we were living together. Obviously, her family was suspicious of her impulsiveness.

  “We married halfway through college. She was enormously wealthy, from an old money WASP New England family. Time passed, and we both finished school, but by this time Margot was starting to show the effects of interacting with our kind. She was tired all the time. My bites had stopped healing and were leaving ugly scars. Her family was concerned. But we were in love, and I was sure that she would be okay.” Hugh sipped his wine.

  And I watched him, my hand on chin, knowing and dreading how this story would end.

  “To protect Margot,” he continued, “I started getting blood from others, but it was never as good, because it wasn’t hers. It’s best to feed from a few at the same time, keeps everyone healthy. You’ll learn this with time, to set up a community. But she was jealous of the others. So I would always come back to her, again and again. And no matter how much it hurt her, she let me, because she loved me. I wished we were like the stories then, that I could make her like me with a bite. But we can’t, we must be born. And then she died. We lasted four years. And they were the best years of my life.” His eyes were sad, but it was an old, familiar pain. Like he wore it around his neck in a locket every day.

  “Why tell me this?” I asked quietly.

  “Because even if your love is perfect, and you do everything right, you can only get a few years out of Sabrina if you feed on her exclusively. But not much more than that. Even if you are really careful, and have lots of donors. We are a destructive force at our core, no matter how hard we fight against it.”

  I dropped my chin, looking at my hands intertwined on the table top. I had no counter-argument.

  Our food arrived. Renee smiled at Hugh seductively as she slid the plate his way. He reached out, and took her wrist. He thanked her sincerely, and their eyes locked. I watched her pupils expand, her tongue snaking out and moistening her lips. This empty flirtation felt disrespectful after the story of Margot to me. But Hugh had clearly mastered compartmentalization a long time ago.

  While he still had his hand on her arm, his eyes slid to me and winked. I realized then he was doing this for my benefit, showing me the control we could have over the willing, showing how easy it was to shut off any feelings. The lesson had begun. And I could not help the twin feelings of repulsion and curiosity. I watched him and took notes as a pupil, without a word. Teaching his cub to hunt. He smiled again, teeth broad and lethal. Renee dropped her gaze demurely, swaying a little on her feet. He let her hand slide out of his and she walked away from us, a bit unsteady.

  “It’s all in the touch and in the eyes. Then the voice. But the touch intensifies it, makes humans pliable and more responsive.”

  The waitress had been utterly consumed by my father in that moment. If he’d asked her to open a vein right there, I bet she would have. Was I like that with Sabrina? Certainly not. But I thought of that first night, the alcohol, my hunger for her to touch me. I wanted something from her that I couldn’t name, and she played right into that. When I didn’t want to fight, she stopped. My fingertips absently went to my lips, the ghost of her blood there.

  “It’s like she’s under a spell. . . .” I murmured, watching Renee from across the room.

  Hugh nodded, cutting into his steak and lifting a piece to his mouth. “Most people, we make their skin crawl. But the tradeoff is that those like that waitress, like the hostess, like your mother, and Sabrina . . . they are so receptive. They want to be our prey. You can do practically anything to them if you keep them touching you, close to you, talking to you. The longer they are away, the more strained the connection, the more they think about what actually happened . . . the more they notice the bites.”

  He gestured for me to eat. I had left my plate untouched. Just like in my mother’s journal, as soon as Hugh was away, she’d start to question everything. I tried to not feel guilty that I wasn’t defending the human race. I stared down at my artfully arranged chicken, sitting on a bed of poached pears and mashed sweet potatoes. A small decorative flower adorned the side of the plate. I cut into the chicken and took a bite, the combined flavors delicious and complex in my mouth. My father watched closely and was pleased.

  “I want you to talk to the waitress when she returns. See if you can get her to be as interested in you as she was in me.”

  I shook my head, my mouth full. “Uh, I’m a teenage girl, and you’re a man. I highly doubt it.”

  “What’s the harm? You need to understand what you are capable of doing, the power you can wield over these people. You use it on your little girlfriend almost daily, so I figured you’d prefer trying it on another woman.”

  “So . . . you’ve fed off of men before?”

  He laughed, loud enough that a couple a few tables away looked over. “Of course I have. My college roommate for one. Remember, Jane, I’m an opportunist. I’m not very concerned about the outer packaging if I’m hungry. I think few of our kind are. Although I do prefer women. But it’s different for everyone.”

  “Well, I . . .” My mouth opened and closed like a fish.

  “Let me put it this way: do you fantasize about sex or about blood?”

  I was uncomfortable with the personal shift in conversation, but he had been my father for approximately two days. What did he know about talking to a teenage daughter? What did I know? And he was right. I’d never thought about sex, never really cared. The life thrumming within Sabrina excited me far more than anything. My lack of response was his answer. He leaned back and crossed his arms, taking the point for himself.

  “I don’t much fantasize about either,” I responded, cheeks hot.

  He waved my answer off with a brush of his hand. “What I’m saying is that our biological urge is for blood, using sex.”

  “What about the others? Regular people? Can you drink their blood?”

  He took another bite of his steak, nodding with his mouth full. “You can get blood from anyone, but it will be a very different experience with the unwilling.”

  “Have you ever done it?” I asked.

  He nodded and I stopped eating, fork held above my plate. There were so many people walking the streets that the idea of just anyone becoming prey opened up an entire world of options.

  “If you’re desperate, you’ll go with what you can get. It happens, believe me. I have gone for street people, preferably unconscious. But you have to be ready, since regular people are going to fight tooth and nail to get away from you.”

  “Yeah . . .” I thought of Hob’s Valley. One wrong step and villagers with pitchforks would be on my front porch, I was sure of it.

  “Right after your mother left, I was in a bit of a state. There was another woman that I was seeing, but not very often, so our bond was not as strong. She had to go away for business. I was sick, with your mother gone unexpectedly and Barbara—the other woman—away as well. Anyway, there was this homeless man who used to skulk around near the gallery, begging food or change off anyone who passed—all but me, obviously.” Hugh leaned in, dropping his voice a notch. “I was sitting there in the shop, my skin itching like crazy, my stomach
screaming, and I was watching that poor bastard outside. Finally, I offered him a hundred-dollar bill to help me load stuff into a truck, and even with that kind of money in his hand, he was still reluctant. But I eventually convinced him to come to the back alley, to help with lifting something there. Then I just clocked him with a cinder block and drained him dry. One of the few times I killed someone in one feeding, but it was amazing. I was fat as a tick by the end, so full I had to undo my pants!”

  He laughed at this, the memory strangely fond for him. I tried to keep my face free of emotion while he talked. But the idea of him killing bums in back alleys was a combination of horrific and nauseating. Worse still, I hated how attractive the idea of drinking until I had my fill was, the other person be damned.

  “After lying there for a while, I realized that I now had a dead body to clean up. It was a whole thing. . . .” Hugh waved his hand and drained the dregs of his glass, filling it back up immediately and topping my barely touched glass as well.

  “How did you—”

  “Oh, I ended up wrapping him in plastic and putting him in the boot of my van—the gallery’s van. Then I drove all the way to Jersey and dumped him in the ocean in an industrial area. Never saw anything about it in the papers, so I suppose I got away with it.” He took another sip of his wine and finished his steak. I wanted to ask more, how killing made him feel, how he lived with it. But Renee returned to take our plates. Hugh nodded at me, communicating wordlessly that it was my turn to talk to her. She had eyes only for him though, as she stacked the plates.

  “Would you care to see a dessert menu?” she said in a husky voice, her eyes glassy.

  My pulse raced. I swallowed it down and cleared my throat. It had the desired effect of breaking her out of the fog. She turned to me.

  “Yes, I would like to see the dessert menu.” I held her gaze. I tried to pour all of my hunger, all of my need to be wanted, to be loved, to be held, to be understood, into my eyes and into her. I was excited and discomforted by how easy it was to keep her attention on me. I wasn’t even touching her yet, but I had the sinking feeling that if I asked her to sit beside me, she’d do it.

  Slowly, Renee reached into her black apron and produced the small metallic folder that held the dessert menu. She handed it to me, and I reached deliberately, letting my fingertips brush along hers. She inhaled shakily as we made contact, her body shivering. The connection snapped into place, and I could feel her pulse through my fingers. My sense of smell opened up tenfold and suddenly I could smell her skin, her perfume, the perspiration beneath her deodorant. I could see the thump of her heart in her neck and feel my breathing and heartbeat fall into rhythm with hers. It was as if we stood in a black tunnel together, completely closed off from anything but one another. It was so tempting to stay there, hidden away in a world filled only with her breaths, her scent. But I shook it off and I could see my father in my peripheral vision. He was smiling wolfishly.

  “What would you recommend for dessert?” I finally said.

  She frowned for a moment before whispering, “Death by chocolate with fresh raspberries.”

  I risked a glance at my father, he nodded.

  “Great. That’s what we’ll have. Thank you, Renee.” As quickly as I had ensnared her, I cut the tether. She blinked hard for a moment, absently wiping the pearls of perspiration that had blossomed on her upper lip. I could feel her searching stare on my face, but I didn’t look back at her.

  “Uh . . . okay. I’ll put that order right in for you.” Her training overcame her discomfort as she spun away, frown on her face. As soon as she was out of earshot, I turned to my father, barely containing my excitement.

  “Oh my God, I can’t believe that worked. I thought it would be so hard, but it was . . .”

  “Easy. Yes. I think she would have done anything you told her to. Good girl.”

  I beamed. Inside, the familiar guilt was rattling around, hollering for me to be horrified, but I ignored it. I felt great, powerful. I hadn’t been very good at being a person, but maybe I was good at being a monster. I would be fighting a lot less with Sabrina if I started using that little trick when it was time for blood. I wanted to feel shame for thinking that, but there was no room for it. I was soaring on a feeling of complete control. I couldn’t get the dumb grin off my face.

  When Renee returned, she placed the dish between us a bit unceremoniously, her composure slipping, making no attempt to look at either of us. My father thanked her anyway as she dropped the two forks on the table surface loudly and pivoted away, hurrying to the safety of the swaying kitchen doors.

  XXXI.

  After dessert, Renee returned, slid the check to us, and vanished again. My father jammed a credit card into the black sleeve without looking at the total. She didn’t look at either of us as she processed payment and left, and it made me a little sad, the euphoria earlier curdling to a more familiar pang of regret.

  “Do the people that work here know what we are?” I asked.

  “I’d imagine so.”

  “But what we do to them, is it like hypnotism? Or are we just turning them into slaves? You think she actually likes me somewhere in there? Or just because I told her to? She seems embarrassed about it now.”

  “I wouldn’t overthink it, Jane. I think you woke an interest she didn’t know she had.” Hugh stood up and asked me to wait. He went to talk to the hostess. She leaned into him, receptive. Money exchanged hands. Then, gathering our coats, he gestured to me. I followed the tall shape of my father through two darkened double doors into a very intimate dining space that had to be for private parties.

  The room was also red, a more vibrant shade than the main dining room. The floor and ceiling were painted a dark glossy black. The room had one long table surrounded by tall, gray leather chairs. A round velvet sofa was nestled in the corner farthest from the door. It faced an electric fireplace. The only light in the room came from the dancing flames. Hugh took our coats and hung them on nearby chairs, comfortable with the room, like he’d been in it before.

  He gestured for me to sit on the sofa, so I did, comforted by the heat emanating from the fireplace. He stood near the door, affecting a relaxed pose, but I could see the tension beneath it, the hunter peeking out. I wanted to ask what was about to happen, when the door pushed open. Renee came through. She had on her service smile, but it fell when she saw me sitting on the sofa. Waiting.

  XXXII.

  “What are you . . . ?” She started to say to me when my father stepped behind her and immediately put his arm around her.

  “We thought you were an incredible waitress, my daughter and I, and we wanted to thank you. Won’t you please sit with us a moment?” I watched her go from uncomfortable and tense to completely compliant in the blink of an eye. His arm firmly around her waist, his mouth close to her ear, she relaxed. I watched nervously as he locked the door behind him. She smiled dreamily and sat between us.

  “That is really nice of you guys.” She said and Hugh smoothed back her hair and shushed her. She basked in the caress, catlike. He cupped her face and locked eyes. They were nearly mouth to mouth.

  “I want to kiss you, Renee, would that be all right?” I saw a ghost of doubt, of fear, flicker across her face, but it was pulled quickly under and she nodded, smiling. He pressed his mouth to hers, and she sighed.

  There was something strange about watching my father deeply kiss this woman. I looked away, staring at the fire, feeling deeply uncomfortable. In my periphery, I saw his hand move down her neck to her breast, heard her intake of breath as he squeezed. He gestured to me, but I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to do. Watching my father and this woman in such a private moment made me squirm with embarrassment. So I did nothing, my hands clasped tightly in my lap, knuckles white. He kissed along her neck, and gestured at me again, this time with force. When I still didn’t move, Hugh took my hand and placed it on the woman’s. I couldn’t help it. I took her hand without thinking about it, running my thumb o
ver the pulse point at her wrist. She moaned, and I knelt into the crux of her arm, rolling up the dark sleeve.

  Renee had an elaborate floral tattoo on her forearm, and I hoped my bite wouldn’t ruin the artistry of it. I ran my hand over the purple irises, noting how smooth her inner arm was, like silk. I licked her skin. Her perfume was spicy and utterly appealing. Once I felt that enough of my saliva had numbed the area, I bit, knowing that the first sweet mouthful of blood was always the best. I could see my father’s mouth on her neck, biting in near the collarbone, his other hand up under her dress. I tried to ignore them as I got my fill, noting how different it tasted from Sabrina’s. I thought of wine connoisseurs and their ability to detect all the subtleties of flavor.

  I was losing track of time, and I tried to pull myself away. I wanted to drink and drink, lose myself to the feeling of sinking into warm, depthless, water.

  I forced myself to stop. I pulled Renee’s sleeve to cover her arm and edged myself down to the end of the sofa to avoid temptation. I saw a trickle of blood dribble out her sleeve where her arm hung limp off the couch.

  My father was nearly done himself. I stared at the fire, trying to force indifference. He slowly detached from her throat, unceremoniously wiping his face on her dress before pulling it up over her neck. Renee was nearly unconscious, breathing heavily, a half smile on her sweaty, pale face. He pulled her long skirt down and arranged her more comfortably on the sofa, as if she were a ragdoll.

  Leaning over her, he stroked her hair away from her face. Her eyes fluttered as he whispered in her ear.

  “Thank you, Renee. Perhaps I or my daughter will call on you again. Don’t forget us, all right? Have a big glass of juice and a slice of cake and you’ll be fine.” In a surprisingly tender moment, he smoothed her long blonde bangs back and kissed her temple before straightening up and getting his coat. I did the same and we left the restaurant.

  I welcomed the fresh air out on the streets, the incense and heat inside were too intense. I was buzzing with blood. My body felt like it could fly if I willed it, but my soul felt sick. My father was more composed. His cheeks were ruddy, and his mouth was red and bee-stung. I could smell her on him even from a few feet away.