No Virtue Like Mercy

Chapter One: First Sight

"There is no disease like covetousness, and no virtue like mercy."

– Chanakya

I knew it had been too good to be true, as the paramedics jostled the gurney slightly which held me upon it, as my insides threatened to burst out from within. Something was terribly wrong, that much I knew, but it seemed almost supernatural, so they likely couldn't truly help me. I was relieved, however, that I'd hidden the used blood bags underneath the couch cushions, behind the books on my shelves, or in the drawers of my nightstand in my bedroom. They absolutely could not find those, due to the fact that I'd likely be arrested for breaking and entering, as well as theft, before being found to be a hundred percent certifiable, due to the fact that I could, literally, only drink blood, human blood, in excess, in order to keep my unborn baby alive.

I found myself screaming again as another wave of pain hit me; they would see the bruises littering my skin, once they examined my stomach and attempted an ultrasound. I hadn't even been to the doctor, due to the strange symptoms, not to mention the fact that I didn't have medical insurance either; it wasn't like I could afford it. I had gotten a position at the campus bookstore after graduation in June, which only paid just enough to cover rent at my tiny, one-bedroom apartment, as well as groceries. Of course, I hadn't needed to go shopping, given my condition, which had me pilfering the local Puget Sound Blood Center, to consume the one thing my baby was desperate for.

Naturally, I'd figured it out by now; humans didn't typically drink blood, not unless you were a serial killer—one in particular had stuck out to me, Peter Kürten, also known as the Vampire of Düsseldorf. Of course, it had mainly to do with a fetish, given that he wanted to literally hear his blood gushing out from his neck when he'd been guillotined. That was entirely the opposite for me, when it came to blood consumption—it was survival, survival for the only living being in the world that existed that could ever love me.

As I was bundled into the ambulance—another expense I likely couldn't afford—they drove me as quickly as possible to the Montlake division of the hospital of my alma mater. It was pitch black outside as we continued down the road in the ambulance as I remembered the last twenty-one or so years of my life; one could never forget it, really, given all the things that had changed for me, especially once I hit seventeen, and gained my freedom, as the pain pulled me under and into complete darkness...

The University of Washington's Seattle campus had been the furthest university I'd been accepted to, from my tiny hometown of Endicott, New York, where my father was a Catholic minister, my mother a teacher, and my younger brother the very light of their lives. Even though I was the oldest, it appeared as if I'd been a mistake, somehow, given the lashings my father had delivered onto my back, while quoting the Bible (either from memory or holding it in his free hand to read aloud) if I ever did something that society deemed "better" than Arthur, my younger brother's, efforts.

My mother hadn't been much better; if she wasn't grading assignments, coming up with new work ideas for her classroom, spending time with Arthur, or doing something for the church, she wasn't home. She had dinner on the table every night at six, but lunches were the school's responsibility, and breakfast was on everyone individually. I was lucky if I had "earned" the privilege of eating; even if I was starving, and Arthur and I were alone in the house, if I hadn't earned the right to eat, Arthur would immediately pull out his cell phone and report me to our father without missing a beat. I wasn't permitted a cell phone; those were also a privilege, one that I'd made abundantly clear to my parents that I hadn't earned.

Arthur began taking driver's ed at fifteen, the legally required age; I was not afforded this privilege either. Arthur also took after-school clubs, and was very highly regarded on our school's football team. College scouts were already looking at him in a serious manner, and both our parents were exceedingly proud of him. Arthur even formed a prayer group with his fellow players, despite us both attending the local Catholic school, which held him in even higher esteem with our parents, the student body, the college scouts, and the conservative administration at our school.