Predator

Chapter 7

Corey had spent a lot of time observing people. He was less used to being observed. He was even less used to being observed with looks of confusion and furtiveness. Despite that, people at school were looking at him out of the corner of their eyes, pretending they weren't looking at him. By the time he was ready to go to his first class, he knew something was up.

He quickly slipped into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. All he saw in the mirror was himself. It wasn't until he turned to leave that he saw it. He was moving differently. Slowly, Corey turned back to the mirror, and this time he could see it. He wasn't any larger than before, but there was definition to his muscles he hadn't seen before. He didn't look... scrawny, just slim.

As he turned to leave once again, he saw the other thing that was getting him looks. He was moving differently for another reason. He wasn't moving like a timid kid. He was moving with purpose and conviction. I'm not the same, weak kid I was yesterday. But all I did was eat some meat and everything in the house last night.

The only person who didn't react differently was Blake. As far as Blake was concerned, he was still... “One side, idiot.” ...an idiot. At least Corey was getting top chemistry grades for his abuse.

Lunch was where Corey did something truly out of character. He got three of the BBQ “pressed pork rib” sandwiches. After the first bite, he had only two thoughts. Pork is delicious! Why would anyone refuse to eat this stuff? After that, he inhaled all three sandwiches while those who were used to seeing him barely eat a pita-veggie sandwich for lunch stared at him.

By the time gym class rolled around, he was feeling strange, lethargic. He sat down on the bleachers, and quickly fell asleep. His dreams were odd. He was pressing through bushes, eating whatever came under his nose. Something squealed in front of him, and warm blood dripped over his tongue and down his throat, followed by a small, warm, fuzzy body that he crushed in his teeth a few times. It was followed by sweet berries and leaves.

A buzzer sounding jerked Corey awake, with the memory of blood on his tongue. It refused to leave his mind. What the hell was that about? Blood? And why... why do I want to taste it again? The dream haunted him for the rest of the day, dragging his focus away from classes.

Finally, as he was stepping out of the building, a familiar, heavy arm draped itself over his shoulder. “Really, Blake? Again?”

“You're drawing attention to yourself, idiot. Don't you know better than that?” Corey tried to duck out of the larger boy's grip, but failed. “Come, let's talk a bit.”

Corey was familiar with the little corner he found himself in, yet again. “Blake, can we stop with the whole 'you break every bone in my body and I heal right away' routine? It's getting old.”

“You don't get it. I'm your buddy. I'm looking out for you.” Blake gave him a slow, appraising look. “How much did you eat last night, idiot?”

How does he know? “Everything in the house. Every last veggie mom has.”

“What else did you eat?”

Huh? “A couple burgers and chicken sandwiches last night, and some steak bagels this morning.”

“And you had that fake-pork stuff for lunch.” For once, Blake looked thoughtful instead of abusive. Suddenly, he charged at Corey. Corey slowed time a little, ducked down, and grabbed Blake's legs. He then snapped his own legs up and forward, lifting Blake off the ground and sending him flying back and away.

Time resumed normal in time for him to hear a satisfying “oof” as Blake hit the ground. “Leave me alone, Blake. I'm not in the mood.”

As Blake scrambled back to his feet, though, there was a grin on his face that suggested that it wouldn't be that simple. “You still haven't learned your lesson. Looks like the pork wasn't all fake, though.”

“Huh?”

“The pork. It wasn't all fake.” What the hell does that mean? “Okay, let's get some food in us before your mom tries to starve you again. My treat.” Corey's eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Your dad's not happy about how you've been raised. Wanted me to pass on a few tips to you.”

WHAT THE HELL? Corey followed him warily, hoping he would finally get some answers.

~~~

So it turned out Blake came from a rich family. Camaro for the kid, rich. Gold Mastercard for the kid, rich. Corey was in shock. Actually, Corey was sitting in an upscale restaurant that served strange foods. They had started off with rattlesnake kabobs. Then they'd had alligator steaks. Now Corey was working on a Kodiak Burger with boar bacon.

“Okay, why is it I can still eat? I stopped being hungry a long time ago.”

“Because you're built to eat. And because you ate the rattlesnake first.” Corey gave Blake a blank look. Blake ignored it and asked, “Had any strange dreams, lately?”

“I had one about roaming in fields, and after lunch I fell asleep and dreamed of eating an animal raw. Oh, and last night I dreamed about eating bugs.”

“You're gonna have some mighty wild dreams tonight, then. Eating rats, swimming, killing an elk, stuff like that.”

Corey processed the prediction. “What I eat controls what I dream?”

“What you eat gives you information. Dreams help you process it for use, at least for now.”

“Why do you know so much about what's happening to me?” First he's bullying me, now he's buying me almost everything on the menu. What the hell?

“Because I'm doing your dad a favor.”

“Yeah, about that, isn't he the one that gave me drugs to scramble up my healing?”

“Of course. You were too young to function properly, and kids spout off information without understanding the consequences. You're old enough to know what could happen if people know you're strange, now.”

They stopped talking when the waiter came back, eying them suspiciously. Blake just ordered a round of oyster sliders and chocolate-covered fire ants without batting an eye. The waiter left, muttering something about “teen-aged boys and their appetites.”

Blake looked back at Corey. “This is the last round. Then we go home, and I have a talk with your mom while you sleep off the meal.”

“How am I supposed to digest all this?” Corey's stomach was visibly bloated from all the food.

“You'll be ready for breakfast in the morning, I promise.”

“Okay, then how do you know my dad? Why would he ask you for a favor?”

Blake made a sour face. “Because I owe him. It's taken him two hundred years to give me the chance to pay him back, and I'm fucking taking it. You don't need to know the details. It's none of your damned business.”

“Well, why not take care of this himself?”

“Because, as you are right now, he'd probably eat you.” Blake made the statement so calmly and matter-of-factly that Corey could only stare, dumbfounded.