Seeing Red

Ch. 2

Sometimes I want to drown, like a fish in air. Choke on my own tears, wallow in my sorrow. I want to be able to remember everything that had been my life fully, but I just...can't. I reach and reach for those broken smatters of memories, but my hands are not gentle enough. I always end up crushing them, leaving myself without even my most personal possessions.

Perhaps, I think, I would be better off without any memories. I could live as a true animal, without any connection to humanity to hold me back. Maybe I would stop crying so often.

What little was left of the girl tasted too stale, too rotten. Still, it would satisfy the hunger for just a bit, at least until I could hunt again for the next week or so.

I abandoned the bones of my meal and left for the night. It was cold as it usually was during this time of the year. The shitty snowmen and deer decorations in the park were the only reminders that Christmas was near. That would mean that I would be a bit fuller than usual, mostly because it was easier to corner solitary prey. The people that usually hung out by their lonesome during Christmas were either the “no one will remember them” type or the “no one will care if they go missing” type. I guess I had a lot in common with those people.

One potential meal did catch my eye, however. She was pale, dressed in black, that type of girl. She had dyed black hair cut in a neat bob that hid most of her face and a large red plaid scarf that hid the rest of it. Had I been the same guy that I had been when I was alive, I would have steered away from people like her, the rejects. It's funny how a person's transformation into a man-eating monster can actually make him more accepting of others.

“Hey, what's up?” I took a seat next to her and sprawled out comfortably, as if we were old friends. My voice sounded a bit weird; I hadn't used it for about four days.

She moved away a little, apparently not too pleased with the fact that someone was actually talking to her. Her lips formed a disgusted little frown before she whispered, “Nothing much, I guess.” She rolled her eyes a little. “Who the hell are you, anyways?”

I chuckled a little. A little more aggressive than I expected, not that I was surprised. She was probably seventeen or eighteen, used to being picked on by guys like me at school. I knew her type too well, and the hatred, perhaps, was well earned.

“Jack Slater.” I decided to give her my real name, or at least the one that was written on the football team certificate that I found wedged inside one of my mom's old photo albums. I had no idea who I really was.

“Hm. Sounds familiar.” Probably because my name had been printed all over the newspapers five years back. Thankfully, it was generic enough to seem like a common name. I didn't

“And you are?” I pressed, trying to keep a conversation going.

“Oh, right. Kaylen Minuski. You can call me Lynn, though.”

“So what are you doing alone out here tonight? Done with Christmas shopping?”

Once again, her walls were back up. She looked at me coldly and asked, “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“No family, no friends to shop for.”

Her eyes widened in sympathy. “Oh, I'm sorry. I just thought that you looked like...”

“One of those popular douchebags at school?”

I could tell that she was blushing, but she nodded just a tad. “You don't act like it, though. You just have that athletic look.”

“Well, to give you credit, I did do some football a while back, but that's all behind me now.”

“What do you do now?”

I took a little bit to think of something artistic, something that I could handle answering questions about. I was still limited in my range of possible occupations; I was immortal but not old yet.

I wondered if I'd ever speng my time getting good at anything, like all those debonair vampires you see in cheap romance novels. Not that I read those, by the way.

“I'm a freelance journalist and a novelist on the side. I haven't written much, though. Just some scraps of poetry, that kind of thing.” I was surprised and a little scared by the sheer ease of the lie.

Lynn seemed interested now. She looked a bit bookish herself but maintained that “edge” that separated her from regular girls. “Sounds cool. I'd love to read some of your stuff sometime.”

“So, you never answered my question. Why are you here tonight?”

She shrugged. “I want to get away from the family, spend some time alone tonight. My grandparents and parents are always freaking out the night before Christmas Eve, trying to put all their shit together for tomorrow, and my cousins are all talkative and overly friendly this time of year.”

“Ah, I see. Sorry for bothering you, then.” Play the nice guy and then guilt-trip her. It was almost sad how many times people took the bait. I'm not violent until people let me into their lives, which I guess was a pretty sad fact in itself. I gave up human relationships when I lost the one with my parents.

“No, you can stay here. In fact, you could probably come over for dinner tomorrow night. Our family loves having random guests and friends over every year. It's a tradition.” Checkmate. She took the bait. “I'm living in the old brick house on Newland Avenue. It's actually my grandparents' place; I'm just visiting for Christmas with my dad.” From what she said, I assumed that Lynn probably came from one of those divorced families where the parents shared custody for the kid's sake. I never had that problem; my parents were never around to begin with.

I thought about the location and asked, “Are you Mrs. Harper's granddaughter?” Mrs. Harper was one of the few humans that I liked; she was the owner of the local bookstore. That explained Lynn's bookishness.

“You know her?”

“Yeah, I go to her store all the time. She knows me pretty well; we always chat.”

A smile spread on Lynn's face. “Then she'll definitely love it if you come over.” She tilted her head a little. “Do you text?”

“No, but I call. I'm not very high-tech, sorry.”

She giggled a little, as if finding this quality of mine somewhat endearing. “It's alright.” She pulled out her cellphone, a sleek purple piece of plastic. “What's your number? I'll call you up sometime.”

“Seven twenty – four five four – seven three two right.”

“Okay got it. See you later. It's getting dark; I should get going. Good night, Jack.”

“Night.”