Two years. It has been two years since that night and I still think about it everyday. And why shouldn't I? I've had some weird shit happen to me before – shadows that seem to move out of the corner of my eye, strange, unexplained noises at night, white flashes of light now and then – but that one encounter took the cake. Everything up until that point had a plausible explanation. I'm seeing things. I'm hearing things. Something's wrong with my eye. But him? I couldn't explain him. People don't sneak into other people's houses, have a relatively decent conversation with them and just leave. People rob, rape and kill. When someone enters your house without your knowledge or permission, especially if this someone is a stranger you have never met before, you can be pretty damn sure that they intend to do you some form of harm. But he had just left. And that wasn't the strangest part. Four shots were fired that night. My gun was on the floor when I woke up with four bullets missing. Yet there wasn't a single drop of blood anywhere.
But there could be a rational explanation for this. Maybe, I didn't hit anyone. Maybe he was a figment of my imagination, a character in a dream. Maybe I had, in my sleep, grabbed my gun and fired into open air. If that were the case, however, I would have found four bullets on the floor. But that's not what happened. I'd only found one.
There was the other thing, too. The hole in my bedroom wall. As if someone with super human strength had punched it. My note, the one in which I had so harshly rejected his offer of friendship, had also disappeared.
I shook my head, trying to make sense of my confusion, but to no avail. It has been exactly two years, to the day, and thoughts of him still plagued me. Especially at night. Especially when I was alone in my room as I was now. At first, I didn't recognize what it was that I was feeling. The prickle at the back of my neck, the random bouts of anxiety, the sweaty palms, the fast, rhythmic pacing of my heart. The feeling would come and go but it was always the same. I figured it out eventually. It was fear. Genuine, true fear.
The loud, buzzing sound from my cell phone cut through my thoughts. Sighing, I reached over and looked at the display. Neal.
"Hello?" I answered.
"Hey," a smooth, masculine voice said, "you almost ready?"
I looked at the mirror. Jeans, a light sweater, a matching scarf, my favorite red pea coat and brown, leather boots. Just an average outfit for an average night out at the movies.
"Yeah," I said, "you coming soon?"
"Yeah, I'm leaving the house now. I'll be there in about five minutes."
"Okay, see you then," I said and hung up.
It was Halloween night and I was going to watch a horror movie with Neal, my boyfriend of five months. It was going to be a simple night. Watch the movie, go out for a late dessert afterwards, come back home, the end. So why does he always pop into my head? Why do I feel extra jumpy tonight?
Because it's Halloween, stupid, my inner voice said to me, it's when creatures of the night come out to play. I bit my lip, remembering the idiotic move that had started everything. I could see it in my mind: me, standing in my doorway, so utterly convinced that there was nothing in the world I didn't or couldn't understand, so full of my own arrogance that I didn't even notice the break in the shadows, the strange way the light hit the carpeted hallway floor, all signs that there was someone else there. Someone who couldn't quite be seen. I wish I could take it all back. More than any other moment in life, that is the moment I wish I could forever erase. But it can't happen. Life doesn't work that way.
My phone buzzed again.
"Hey I'm outside. Come out," Neal said. I took a deep breath, determined to put Mr. Vampire out of my mind. At least for the night
"Yeah, I'm coming down right now," I said, stepping outside my apartment and locking my door.
"By the way, Liz called me. She wants to join us, if that's okay with you."
"Liz called you? Why didn't she call me?" I said, slightly miffed. Liz was mostly my friend, not his. I've known Liz since college. We were pretty good friends but she was a pharmaceutical sales rep and traveled a lot. My most recent interactions with her were either through Facebook or Skype. Still, she never mentioned that she was even returning to town.
"Something about her running over her minutes for the month and how you're not on Verizon but I am."
"Oh. Did she say when she come back from...where was it? Cincinnati?"
"She said she just got back yesterday. Asked if we had any plans for tonight and I told her we were going to see Cemetery. She asked if she could come along, too. She wanted to see you."
"What'd you say?"
"I said sure, we wouldn't mind. You don't mind, do you?"
I smiled to myself. No, I didn't mind. I loved Liz and it had been ages. The evening just got a little better. Happy, I ended the call when I saw him and gestured to my car.
"Hey," said Neal, putting down his phone and leaning over to give me a light kiss on the cheek. I smiled at him as I started the engine and pulled my car onto Elmer Street.
"So you don't mind, right?"
"No, not at all," I replied.
"Good," he said, flashing me a smile, his soft brown eyes twinkling, "it'll be fun. She says she's bringing someone along."
"What?" I asked, startled at this new turn of events.
"Yeah, some guy she met at Starbucks yesterday. Apparently, they'd talked about the movie and he was really interested in going."
I bit my lip. What was originally supposed to be a casual night out at the movies with my boyfriend has now turned into one of those awkward double dates. Still, it could be worse. Oh yes, a lot worse, my inner voice said nastily, you could spend the night in your bedroom with crazy, rapist psycho vampire. I shoved the thought away. No, I wasn't going to think about him.
"That's fine, right?" Neal asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice. I don't normally mind when our plans change to include some close friends but he knew I didn't like it when strangers were added to the mix last minute.
"Yeah, fine," I answered a little reluctantly. But I couldn't hold some of the resentment and disappointment in. "Why'd she say she wanted to hang out with me if all she wanted was a place to take this guy?"
Neal chuckled.
"It's Liz, it's what she does."
Thanks Neal. You're such a comfort.
"Come on, it'll be fun. It's a movie. It's not like you'll have to force conversation on him. And if he's really that bad, I promise to make some lame excuse about skipping out on dessert."
Brilliant. An escape plan.
"Alright, I'm sold," I said, laughing. Neal reached over and squeezed my hand. I smiled as I turned to the window, relishing the feeling of his warm skin against mine and watching the cityscape pass me by. Neal was right. This will be fun. How could it not be, with someone like Neal to see me through?
... ... ... ... ...
"So where did she say she was going to be?" I asked, looking for Liz's characteristically long, red hair in the crowd. The movies were packed tonight, more than I had seen it in a long time. I somewhat expected this. A new movie, Days of a Red Spring, was being released at midnight and undoubtedly, many people thought they would catch another, more Halloween-appropriate movie while waiting. I sighed. I hated crowds, especially when I had to find someone.
"She said she'd meet us by the women's bathroom on the left," Neal said. My eyes immediately swept over the area when a flash of red caught my gaze.
"There she is!" I said, relieved, "Let's go."
As we approached, Liz's eyes met mine and her face broke into a wide grin.
"Hey!" she said, running over to give me a hug.
"Hey yourself!" I said, returning the hug while catching a whiff of jasmine. Liz's favorite perfume.
"How was your trip?" I asked.
"Oh, it was okay," she replied, brushed back her bangs, "I met with only three companies and I think only one liked my offer. But I can't be sure until I hear back from then, right? Anyway, how have you been?"
"Okay," I said, shrugging, "nothing new to report."
"Yeah? What about you, Neal? How are the fishes?"
I smirked. Neal was a marine ecologist but Liz never lets him forget that that was just a fancy term for what he really does: tag and count fishes for the research lab he works for. Neal thought it was bit of an annoying habit but I secretly agreed with Liz: "marine ecologist" was way too impressive of a title for his actual job.
"The fishes are great. We're up to 5000 eggs per cubic meter in the reef."
"Is that right?" Liz asked, feigning interest, "think the reef is going to get overpopulated soon?"
"Nah, it's the barnacles we have to worry about."
Liz raised an eyebrow at him and he burst out laughing.
"Give it up, Liz. I know you don't give a shit about fishes," he said.
"Just trying to make some polite conversation, geez," she huffed.
"Well enough about the fishes! Aren't you supposed to be here with someone? Where is this mystery guy, anyway?" I asked, looking around. Liz's face immediately brightened.
"Oh my God, you're going to love him. He's so nice. Not really that cute but he was just too nice. And funny! He said he had to use the restroom but he should be back—oh, there he is!"
I followed her gaze and the world ended.
It was him. But different. I realized that the last time I had seen him was at night in the darkness of my room, with only the moonlight streaming through the window to illuminate his face. But here, in the middle of the cinema and under the bright, yellow lamps, I could see him clearly. Still incredibly, unnaturally pale. The same dark eyes with prominent eyebrows. The thin, red lips. But there was more. He was tall, something I hadn't noticed before. And though his face gave off an unhealthy appearance, I noticed that the rest of his body seemed well built. A sudden memory of his body lying on top of mine flashed in my mind. That was all it took. Fear washed through me and I felt every hair on my body rise. I closed my eyes and opened them again, hoping, willing that what I was seeing would go away. But it didn't. He didn't. He just drew closer and closer.
"Hey," he said to me. I flinched inwardly. The same, rough voice. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard to my ears. His eyes passed over me and I witnessed a brief, almost imperceptible, flicker of recognition on his face.
"Hey there," Neal said, extending a hand, "I'm Neal."
No, Neal, no! Don't talk to him! Don't touch him!
He looked at Neal's outstretched hands and smirked slightly before extending his own. I watched closely. He stopped just before making contact with Neal's skin, forcing Neal to reach out and grab his hand. I looked at Neal, at the polite smile on his face. He had no idea.
"Hey Neal, I'm Mikel."
No, no, no. Everything was just so wrong. This couldn't be happening. The universe couldn't do this to me. My world spun for a second and without thinking, I leaned over and grabbed Neal's jacket to steady myself. The gesture did not go unnoticed.
"You okay?" Neal asked. I ignored him.
"What are you doing here?" I blurted out. "Mikel" looked puzzled for a second but then caught on. He wanted to pretend as though we didn't know each other. I wasn't going to let that happen.
"I could ask you the same thing," he said.
I glared at him. Liz looked back and forth between us, confused.
"Wait, you two know each other?"
He answered before I could.
"In a way, yeah," he said, a smirk on his face, "We used to date."
My mouth dropped open. What the fuck was he playing at? I had to say something, anything, as I watched Neal and Liz exchange glances. I wanted to yell out, to scream, it's not true, he's a manipulative, psychopathic liar.
"I—I—" I began but Liz cut me off.
"What do you mean? You dated? When? For how long?"
Again, he beat me to the punch.
"About eight months or so. Two years ago."
Neal's face became stony but Liz looked confused.
"What? How's that possible? I've known her for years. She never mentioned you."
Yes! Of course Liz could figure this out! Neal may swallow the crap "Mikel" was putting out but Liz was smarter than that.
"We, uh, kept it low-key," he said slowly. He was unsure of himself now, I could tell. He hadn't expected Liz and I to go that far back.
I opened my mouth to deny it, so ready to viciously trash him and expose him for the lying killer he was, when I caught his eye from over Liz's shoulder. He pointed to his stomach, then to his lips as he mouthed something. At first, I didn't understand. I thought he was trying to distract me, to keep me from saying something that could blow it all, to stall for time as he thought up of a solid story, one even I couldn't fight. But as he repeated the odd gesture for the second time, I understood what he was saying. I'm hungry.
In that instant, everything changed. This wasn't a game. What was on stake here wasn't my friendship with Liz or my relationship with Neal. No, there was much more than that. I wasn't dealing with some cocky douche of an ex-boyfriend. This was a full-blown, psychopathic serial rapist and killer. A man who has freely admitted to defiling numerous women before ripping them apart. A man who clearly felt no remorse over his actions. A man who had, in two simple words, threatened the lives of two people I cared very much about. Would he really drink them, I wondered, is he bluffing? I knew he wouldn't drink mine. I was Type O and he hated Type O. I tried to remember what blood type Liz and Neal were but to no avail.
"So is this true?" Liz asked, peering into my face.
I looked at him. His arms had dropped to his side, his hands in his jean pockets. The stance looked so innocent, I was almost fooled. But not quite. His threat still hung in the air. I could see it on his face. Swallowing deeply, I realized that I couldn't take any chances. I couldn't call his bluff...if he even was bluffing. I had to play along.
"Sort of," I said slowly, my mind whirring at top-speed to come up with something believable, "we only probably had three or four dates. And it was more like three years ago. I knew him for eight months before he left."
He had no choice but to confirm what I was saying. There was an awkward silence.
"Right, this is kind of weird," Neal said, "you guys just want to head on in?"
There was no way I could sit through a movie with a murderer as my friend's date.
"Actually, I...I think I'm getting a call. Hold on," I said and pulled out my phone. Neal gave me a confused look; it hadn't even rung.
"Vibrate," I said to him and walked to a corner, still keeping them in my line of vision. No one was looking at me. Neal was talking to Liz and "Mikel"...he was just standing there, his eyes flickering towards me every now and then. I put my phone to my ear, pretending to be listening to the caller, as I desperately try to think up of an escape plan. I had to get out of there. Correction, I had to get him out of there. He couldn't be here, not with all these people around. Happy couples, parents, children. My heart was hammering in my chest as my mind tried to make sense of the situation. Why was he even here? If he was hungry, why come to a movie theater on a date? He'd told me that he didn't feed on "normal" people. He fed on homeless people and prostitutes. Liz was neither. For a wild moment, I almost wished he could be off somewhere in a dark alley, draining the life out of some old man no one cared about. But I chastised myself immediately for it. A life is a life. How could I think that? You're getting distracted, a panicked voice from within me said, you need to move. Right. A plan. I had a plan. I stuffed the phone into my jeans pocket and walked back to the group, carefully arranging my face into an apologetic one.
"Hey guys, I'm so sorry but I have to go," I said.
"What? Why?" Neal asked, startled.
"The hospital called. Someone at the ER dropped their shift and they need me to pick it up."
"That sucks! Why can't you tell them you're busy?" Liz asked.
"As if," I scoffed, "There's no one else. And apparently, it's busy there now. All those Halloween pranks or something. Listen, I'm really sorry. You'll just have to enjoy the movie without me. Liz, you can give Neal a ride home, right?"
She nodded.
"I'll make it up to you later, I promise," I said to Neal, kissing his cheek, "I'll see you guys later. And Mikel, sorry we couldn't talk tonight. Maybe some other time?" I gave him a brief but hard look, almost willing him to read my mind. Come with me, I tried to tell him, make an excuse and come with me. He just looked at me and nodded. I didn't know what it meant.
Waving goodbye, I stepped outside of the movie theater and flinched slightly as the cold wind hit my face. I looked over my shoulder. No one. He'll come, I reassured myself, he'll follow you home. He'll be there.
... ... ... ... ...
My apartment was dark and quiet. I listened intently for any sign of life, of movement. A creak on the floor, the rustle of a coat, the faint inhalation of air with each breath taken, but there was nothing. For a terrifying moment, I thought he didn't come. That he had either bought my lie or ignored my invitation. My fingers were already upon my phone, ready to call Neal, to see if things were still okay, when I saw it. A silhouette of a man through my patio curtain. Someone was on my balcony.
Shaking, I slid open the door and instantly felt a hot breath on my face.
"What took you so goddamn long?"
I bit my lip and closed my eyes, preventing tears. So it's begun.
"What are you doing here?" I asked quietly.
"I could ask you the same thing. You moved."
"My job shifted," I said, now staring at the floor, "They transferred me to another hospital."
"Nice. I say it's an improvement. So much better than the shithole you were living in before."
"You still haven't answered my question."
"I'd love to answer all your questions. But aren't you cold? It's chilly out here. Let's say we go in and have a nice, long chat, yeah?"
At that, my head snapped up. A look of realization dawned on my face.
"You can't enter, can you?" I said slowly. The look of frustration on his face was answer enough. I laughed with relief.
"A temporary setback," he said, "invite me in."
I took a step back, retreating further into safety.
"No."
"You don't really have a choice," he growled.
"If I let you in, you'll kill me."
Something changed in his face then. There was a softness there, a look there that almost made me forget he was dangerous. But in a split second, it was gone.
"I could never kill you," he said quietly, "but if you don't let me in, I'll have to go back to Liz. And who knows where the night might take us?"
Liz. Hearing her name killed any sense of victory I might have felt at realizing he couldn't enter my apartment. He was the one in control, he had leverage over me and I had none on him. My shoulders slumped in defeat. I knew what I had to do.
"Come in," I said.
The next thing I felt was my body being pushed against a wall and rough, insisting lips moving against my own. I pushed against his chest. Nothing. I tried moving my face away but his hand found my chin and prevented it. His entire body was pressed against mine, trapping me. My hands tugged at his jacket, his hair, anything that would distract him and give me an edge to fight back. But nothing worked. A tear rolled down my cheek. He said he wouldn't kill me. Was he going to rape me instead? Just as I was about to give up, he pulled away and stepped back several feet.
"Sorry," he said grinning, "but I told myself I'd do that if I ever spoke to you again."
I wiped my mouth with the sleeve of my sweater in disgust and said nothing.
"So," he said, flopping down on my couch and putting his feet up on the coffee table, "you work at a hospital, huh?"
The very sight of him, sitting there on my couch, making himself comfortable, and asking about my job like a polite visitor, when he had just assaulted me and threatened to kill my friend infuriated me. What a miserable douchebag. Did he really think I was going to sit here and chat? Well fuck that. I decided to cut to the chase.
"What do you want?" I asked.
He raised an eyebrow at me.
"Does a man ever truly know what he wants?"
"Don't philosophize," I spat, "just answer the fucking question."
"I can't because I, like most other men, have no idea what I want."
I glared. Two can play the philosophy game.
"Fine. What do you want right now? At this very moment?"
He grinned.
"I want you to come here and sit next to me so that I can kiss your brains out."
Somehow, I managed to contain my instinct to hurl.
"What do you want with Liz?"
"At the moment, I want nothing to do with Liz."
I see I was going to have to get a little more specific.
"What did you want with Liz when...when you first arrived at the movie theater?"
He hesitated this time before speaking.
"I wanted to watch that dumb-ass movie with her. Then I wanted to take her back to my place to hook up. She's real cute, you know. Then after that, I wanted to drain every drop of blood from her body and dump her somewhere for those idiot cops to find."
The honesty with which he told me this stunned me. It wasn't the rape and the kill that surprised me. It was the fact that he had planned to do this to one of my best friends and felt no remorse, no shame, in telling this to me.
"Well, you can't do that. You can't have Liz."
"So who can I have?" he asked, winking. I stared at him.
"You're more forward now. Last time you—you didn't...flirt with me so much. You were more normal, less cocky. You cared more about your life, about what you were doing. You hated yourself for it but now, you feel no remorse at all. What happened?"
"A couple of things. You, life, thirst, you, life and oh yeah, you."
I shook my head.
"I don't understand."
He sighed.
"Of course you wouldn't! You rejected me, remember? All I wanted was a friend, someone to keep me sane and grounded, and you wouldn't even give me that."
"Of course I wouldn't. I couldn't. You were a serial killer and a rapist. How can I be friends with someone like that? Normal people don't befriend criminals."
"Don't say that, I'm not some fucking criminal!" he said loudly. He looked angry now. "I'm not some idiot sociopath and go around killing people for fun."
"Does it matter why you kill them? The very fact that you kill them makes you a criminal."
"I told you, I'm not a criminal!" he shouted. He stood up now and faced me, a contorted look of rage on his face. I shrunk back in fear.
"You think army soldiers are criminals? They kill people. What about doctors who euthanize patients? They kill people, too."
"Soldiers kill in self-defense. They fight defending our country."
He sneered at me and moved closer.
"Yeah, you go ahead and believe that bullshit. You don't think America ever starts wars just for the heck of it? What about when we invaded Iraq, was that self-defense? Seen any Iraqis threatening to blow your head off recently?"
"That's not the point—" I began but he ignored me.
"It damn well is the point. The only reason those soldiers kill people and get away with it is because the government says they can. The only reason doctors can euthanize patients is because the government says they can. No one presses murder charges on them, no one puts them in prison. It's sanctioned murder, that's all it is."
"It's more than that," I said, my voice shaking, "it's justifiable. And it's not wrong. Morality isn't something biological or chemical, it's a set of behaviors the human race has collectively decided to follow. People generally agree that any killings under the authority of the state are okay. So what soldiers do is, by all definitions of the word, moral. And what you do isn't."
"Why? Because I kill other people to save myself, is that it? In case you've forgotten, I drink human blood or I die."
"You don't need to kill to drink human blood. You could let them live."
"In case you forgot, that's how you fucking become a vampire."
"Then don't drink straight from them! Cut them, pour the blood into a cup and drink from that instead!"
He shook his head. He was right in front of me now.
"You don't get it, do you? I need almost two quarts of blood. I drain that much blood from anybody and they'd die of blood loss anyway. So I can't stop. It's almost impossible. It's like asking you to stop breathing or stop blinking. You can control it for a while but the urge comes back. You don't have control."
"I don't believe that."
"You have to!" he yelled, slamming his fist against the wall next to my head. I winced.
"Well I don't. You just don't want it bad enough."
He stared at me for a moment, an intent look on his face.
"Damn right I don't want it bad enough. Why should I? Why should I give a fuck about other people? You said morality is an agreement among the human race? Well, guess what? I'm not human. So why should I have to live like one?"
"You're a lot more human than you think you are," I said. He groaned and rested his hand against the wall, looking down tiredly.
"Yeah, I'm just like you," he said sarcastically. I glared at him.
"I don't get you. What makes you think you're not human? What makes me human and you not?"
"You don't drink blood," he said, still staring at the floor.
"No, but there are people who drink animal blood. And what about cannibals? They eat people but no one doubts they're still human."
"You can die," he said next, a slight choke on his voice. I frowned.
"You can die, too."
"Not of natural causes. I don't grow old."
"How do you know?"
At that, he looked at me.
"What?" he said, sounded perplexed.
"How do you know you won't grow old? Maybe you will. It might take longer than the rest of us but maybe you'll get there too."
He stared at me for a moment and scoffed.
"What are you saying? That it takes one year for you to get a year older but it might take me sixty years?"
"Something like that, yeah. I mean, it's not like there's a lot of scientific evidence on vampirism. Truth is, you don't know what's going to happen to you."
"A lot of the old vampires are from hundreds of years ago. If they haven't aged since then..."
"Yeah but when you look at the history of the Earth, a couple hundred years isn't really a lot, is it? And trees can live for a hundred of years. Bacteria can live hundreds of years."
He smiled at that. Not a cruel, sadistic one but a genuine, happy one. The change it made to his face was incredible.
"You're hilarious, you know that? It's one of the things I love about you."
"I'm not trying to be. I'm serious."
"What are you trying to do, hm?" he asked, lightly touching my cheek with his finger, "What are you hoping to accomplish?"
I turned my face away from his touch.
"I'm trying to make you see reason. I'm trying to make you care."
He cocked his head.
"But I do care. Just not about the same things as you."
I crossed my arms.
"What do you care about?"
He just smiled at me. But the way he looked at me, his dark eyes piercing into mine so intensely, seemed to say it all. I felt myself blush and I couldn't help it. I looked away.
"What do you want, anyway? Why'd you call me here?" he asked.
"I wanted you to not eat Liz," I said dully.
"I didn't know she was your friend. The second I found out, I decided not to."
"Yeah and I'm supposed to believe that?" I snapped, "You threatened me with her life twice."
"I was bluffing. Both times. You fell for it."
That's it. What was up with this guy? First he talks openly about killing and raping people and then, he pretends as if he's some good Samaritan to not kill someone just because they were associated with me.
"What are you trying to do, huh?" I said, raising my voice, "If you want me, then why don't you just take me like all the other girls? Why do you go and pretend to be all good? Why do you keep justifying yourself to me?"
His face darkened at that and he glared at me.
"You're asking me to rape you?" he said dangerously. I swallowed heavily.
"No, I'm asking why you don't. What do you want from me?"
Something in him snapped then.
"I want you to be my friend, damn it!" he yelled. I shrunk back in fear. I'd never seen him so angry.
"I want to be with you, to hang out with you, to not have you look at me like I'm some monster about to tear your head off! I want to live my life with you, I want to be normal with you! But that's too much to ask, isn't it? Because you say that I'm human and that I care but the way you look at me, it's unbearable. You don't understand my life, you never will. You'll always think of me as a crazy, psychopathic killer and nothing I do will ever change that, will it? But that doesn't change what I want. I mean, fuck, I want you to like me!"
I stared at him with wide eyes. He glowered at me before striding up to me and grabbing my upper arms.
"I want you to look at me the same way you look at that dumbass boyfriend of yours," he said in an angry whisper, "but that's too much to ask, isn't it?"
He pushed me back so hard that I stumbled and had to grab the closest thing—a coat hanger—to keep from falling. I continued staring at him. He was pacing back and forth across my living room, running his hand through his hair and cursing under his breath.
"You've cared," I said slowly, "you've cared this whole time. You never shut humanity out."
He laughed hollowly.
"Oh believe me, I've tried. But every time I felt myself falling into the deep end, something always pulled me back. It wasn't until I saw you again one day that I realized it was you holding me back."
"You saw me?"
"I didn't leave town after that night, you know. I hung around a bit, trying to decide where to go. One night, I was lurking behind supermarket, waiting for some homeless guy to steal a cart, when I saw you. You were carrying your groceries out to your car," he chuckled at that, seeming to find it funny for some reason, "I followed you home. I watched you through your window as you made dinner. Mac and cheese from a box."
"So you—you spied on me?" I asked, too shocked to register how creepy this all was.
"I couldn't stay away after that. I left town but I'd come to back every once in a while, just to look at you. To see what you were doing. It was, in part, to satiate my curiosity but mostly, I just needed to see you. I don't know why. You know how you Facebook stalk people you barely even know? I guess it was kind of like that."
"You never came up to me."
He sneered.
"I couldn't, could I? I made you a fucking promise to leave you alone. But I wasn't done with you. I came back a couple times, watched you cook dinner or watch TV or read all by yourself in that lonely apartment of yours. You looked so...innocent, it was almost sickening. No parties, no drunken nights, so smoking weed in your bedroom. Just a typical nerd living her life. And even though I resented you for it, I kept coming back. Until one night, a night when everything changed."
"What happened?" I asked, not entirely sure if I wanted to hear the answer.
"You brought someone over. A guy. There I was, on your patio, quiet and hidden and waiting for you to come home when the front door opened and I saw not you but this complete tool. You guys were laughing. And then...I watched you two make out for five minutes before I couldn't take it anymore. I hated him with every fiber of my body. And I hated you too. I left shortly after that, resolved to never come back."
I bit my lip. I remembered that night. His name had been Drake, a guy I met at work. It had been a total cliché: he was the athlete with a broken ankle and I had been the tech who took his X-rays. Some harmless flirting and a bandaged ankle later, he had asked for my number.
"What happened with that guy, anyway?"
"Nothing. We kissed for a while, he left and he—he never called me back."
"Really." He didn't sound surprised. I felt a nagging suspicion that there was a reason for that.
"Wait a minute. You...you didn't do anything, did you?"
"Me?" he asked a little innocently, "you think I'd go all 'jealous boyfriend' on you and kill your dates?"
"I don't know."
He glared at me.
"I hate your opinion of me, you know. And for your information, I didn't do anything to Lover Boy."
"So he's okay? As far as you know, he's alive?"
"As alive as a corpse can be, yeah," he snickered. I felt the familiar wave of dread wash over my body.
"What are you talking about?"
"There was another vampire in town. Romeo wasn't my dinner but he sure as hell was someone else's."
The floor moved beneath me and I found myself reaching for the coat hanger again to steady myself.
"What? How do you know this?"
"It's kind of hard to miss when you walk into an alley with a big appetite and find his body there nearly drained of blood."
Nauseous. I felt nauseous. It was hot, really hot all of a sudden and my ears didn't seem to be working. I heard his lips move but why was he speaking in mumbles? What was that annoying ringing in my ears? The floor was so close now and I felt something hard press against my legs. I looked down. I was no longer standing. My God. Did he just say...I shook my head, in shock. Drake was dead. And there had been another vampire in town.
"You know, you don't look so good," he said. I looked up and nearly jumped. His face was just inches from mine. He was now kneeling in front of me, peering at me with what could only be a look of concern. I swallowed heavily.
"I—I just need to sit down." And with that, I moved away from him and sat down on the couch. He sighed and turned around to face me but maintaining the distance between us. I was thankful for that.
"Was he your boyfriend or something? Some long-lost lover you never got over?" he asked, a hint of bitterness in his voice. I shook my head slowly, still trying to make sense of what I had just learned.
"No...I...it's not that. It's just...how many of your kind are there?"
He looked confused for a moment but realization slowly dawned on him and a sly grin appeared on his face.
"You don't give a shit if Drake's dead, do you? You're just worried about other vampires that might try to kill you."
"No! It's not that!" I cried. But wasn't it? I felt some sadness and sympathy for Drake and his family and friends. He really was a nice guy and definitely didn't deserve to die like that. But did his death emotionally affect me? No. It shocked me but the strange thing was, I didn't feel any sense of grief. I wasn't that emotionally connected to it. It was cold, it was harsh but it was the truth.
But other vampires...that was a different issue. It was a thought that hadn't even crossed my mind before and now, looking back, I wondered why that was the case. It should be obvious. Only vampires made other vampires. That meant someone must have made him, and someone must have made his maker and so on and so on. The idea that any person, anybody, walking down the street looking completely normal could be a killer was terrifying, not only for me but for everyone I knew and cared about.
"Just answer the question, will you?" I said exasperatedly.
"There aren't a lot of us around. Like I said before: it's really hard to make new vampires. That keeps our population pretty small I guess. Lucky for you humans."
"Do you know who it was that night?"
"No. Don't really care to find out either."
I opened my mouth to ask why—I mean, I'd look for others of my kind if I was a vampire—when my cell phone buzzed again. I sighed and pulled it out of my pocket. It was Raanu, my twelve-year-old cousin. For a brief moment, I debated on whether or not to answer. Wasn't it generally considered rude to attend to a call while in the middle of a conversation? Wait a minute. I shook my head slightly, almost ready to laugh at the situation. I was thinking about manners while in the presence of a certified serial killer. How ridiculous was that?
"Hello?"
"Akka!" Raanu screeched into my ear, "guess what! My mom just told me. We're coming to visit you this weekend! It's going to be so fun and...Mali stop!"
I heard her sister, Mali, say something in the background and then Raanu groaned.
"Mom's calling me to finish dinner. Urgh, it's so gross, she made eggplant curry. I like your cooking better. Oh, Mali wants to talk to you."
"Okay, Raanu I'll see you this weekend."
With an excited squeal, I heard her pass the phone to Mali.
"Hey Akka," Mali said.
"Hey. How's life?"
"So-and-so. I'm taking the SATs next month. Been studying for that. How's your life?"
"Um," I stalled, not really sure of what to say, "it's...okay."
"Yeah? Do anything for Halloween tonight? I had to take Raanu trick-or-treating, can you believe? As if I don't have anything better to do."
I smiled to myself. Just two years ago, I was in the same situation and took both of them trick-or-treating...all because my aunt had wanted just one night without having to deal with their bickering.
"Yeah, can't imagine what that must have been like," I said a little sarcastically. I heard Mali chuckle.
"Yeah well, I swear she gets more and more annoying each day. So what'd you do?"
"Uh, nothing much. Just...just catching up with an old friend."
He flashed me a grin at that.
"Oh, yeah? Sounds fun."
"You, uh, yeah. You could say that."
His grin grew even wider.
"Well, I got to go. But Mom wanted me to ask you: you free on Saturday? We're thinking about coming up to see you."
"Yeah, I'm free Saturday."
"Great! We'll probably be there at like, 11 or something. See you soon!"
"See you. Bye," I said and hung up.
"So," he said, sounding a little happy, "I'm an old friend, huh?"
"I think that would have freaked her out a lot less than 'catching up with a homicidal stalker vampire'" I snapped. He raised an eyebrow and flopped down on the couch next to me. Instinctively, I moved to the other end—as far from his as possible.
"Your cousins are cute. I remember that from last time."
"Cute as in tasty?" I asked, my voice filled with dread. He gave me an annoyed look.
"No. Cute as in little kid cute. I told you: they remind of my own family. I had two younger sisters."
"Had?"
"Alright, have. I have two younger sisters. But it's been nine years since I last saw any of them."
I couldn't miss the touch of despair in his voice. My heart went out to him just then. I don't think I could stand not seeing my family for that long.
"Why don't you go visit them?"
"Visit them?" he asked as if he'd never heard those words before.
"Yeah, why haven't you seen them?"
He inhaled sharply.
"After I turned, I—I was thirsty. And you know what happens when I get thirsty. After I did it—had my first kill—I kind of freaked. I was still thinking in human terms, you know? I was still trying to process what the fuck I was, what possessed me to do what I had done. But I also panicked about the logistics of it all. What happened when the police found the body? Would they find my fingerprints? My saliva on the body? Was I going to get arrested and put in jail or the psych ward? It was too much to deal with. I didn't tell anyone about it. I just disappeared."
My breath caught in my throat. It seemed almost ethereal, the humanness of what he was saying. His fear, his confusion, his panic. It was hard to not feel some sympathy for him.
"So you never tried to go back?"
"Not exactly. I thought I just had to wait, you know? They'd never catch the killer so I thought I could just wait until they closed the guy's file, toss it in some huge stack of folders and forget about it. But it didn't happen like that. My family reported me as a missing person that same night and the police put it together. A missing person and a murder on the same night was too much in a small town to be coincidental."
"So they thought you had something to do with it? They thought you killed him and had fled?"
He shook his head.
"It didn't make sense to them, you know? I didn't even know the guy and I had no prior history. There was no motive. I was a good guy before all this shit happened, trust me. My folks had known the mayor for years. People knew I wouldn't do something like that."
"I don't get it. If they didn't suspect you, why didn't you go back?"
"Because they presumed me to be dead. They thought I'd been killed by the same person who killed the other guy. And my family...they were persistent," he said, a faraway look on his face and a hint of pride in his voice, "they wouldn't let the case go. They kept looking for the killer. A year passed, then two, then three. I kept waiting for them to just forget it and move on but it didn't happen. They kept me alive and I knew if I were to just waltz back into town, I'd have to give them some answers. And by that point, I'd given up. I was a full-fledged serial killer by then. How could I face them? How could I go back and lie to their faces and pretend nothing had happened, that I wasn't different? No, it's better they think I'm dead."
A lump had formed in my throat. I couldn't even imagine what he must have gone through all those years. It was clear that he had endured more hardship than I ever had. His life definitely wasn't easy.
"It's not too late," I said earnestly, "You can still go back. You just need a really good story, that's all."
"Haven't you been listening? I can't do it! I can't go back and lie to them about everything that's happened. And besides, what am I supposed to drink?"
"Can't you—can't you survive off animal blood?" It was a question that had been swirling around the back of my mind for some time now.
"Like those vampires in the movies? Please. I've tried that. I got sick. Really sick."
I bit my lip. It really seemed like there was no way out. He seemed to realize this. Leaning back against the couch, he gave me a hard look.
"So you finally see my problem, don't you? I need blood to live and a lot of it. Enough so that no one can live with that much blood lost from their body. Even if I didn't need that much and I stop drinking before they die, they become vampires. I can't drink anything else. My family thinks I'm dead and I'm all alone. I'm also immortal. There's no way out of this miserable existence."
"No, there has to be a way around it," I said, thinking deeply, "two quarts of blood, right? What if you were to get a little blood from different people and—"
"Can you honestly see that happening?" he asked, frustrated, "Think I can get four people to each give me a pint of blood?"
He had a point there. Where was he going to get four volunteers? Unless...
"You have two sisters, right? And two parents? That's four people."
There was a pause.
"That is the most ridiculous thing I've heard you say. I thought you were smart?"
"You're saying that four people who love you aren't going to help you out once in a while?" I asked, ignoring his jab at my intelligence.
"Shit, it's been nine years. Will they still love me?"
"Of course."
"After they find out I've killed people?"
"You were surviving."
"What about the rapes?"
Oh yeah, there was that. I had almost forgotten. Thinking about what he had done, about who I was actually speaking to, made me queasy. It was so much easier to see him as a lost man caught in an impossible dilemma. But that wouldn't be the truth. I couldn't see him like that. I couldn't forget.
"Maybe not," I admitted. He sighed deeply.
"Is there any redemption for me?" he asked, his tone full of resignation.
I bit my lip, hesitant to voice my opinion, but he caught on anyway.
"I didn't think so."
With that, he pulled himself off the couch and turned to the front door.
"Thanks for talking to me," he said quietly, "thanks for listening. But I got to go."
The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.
"Wait. Don't go."
He stopped and turned around slowly, an incredulous look on his face.
"You...want me to stay?"
I swallowed heavily, hardly believing what I was saying.
"Yes."
"Why?" There was a spark in his eyes and I felt a pang of guilt, knowing that what I was about to say was probably going to hurt him.
"If I let you go like this, you'll never stop. I'd be letting a murderer walk free. And that's not right."
Something shifted in his face. The spark was gone, replaced by another emotion: anger. I inwardly cringed, praying that he wouldn't do anything rash.
"So what are you going to do? Kill me?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Like that was even a possibility. I thought about it for a second. What could I do? I could report him to the police. Give them a sketch of his face. But what would happen then? What would stop him from killing the cops that go after him? From the judge that would sentence him? Even if he got that far into the judicial process, was there any jail in the world that could hold him? He was strong...I saw what he did to my wall two years ago. There was no holding him anywhere. Brute force wasn't going to work on him. The only thing that could possibly work was persuasion.
"No," I answered, "I'm going to change you."
He raised an eyebrow at me.
"How?"
I thought about that. No one changes unless they are willing to change.
"Just....just answer my questions," I said, "Do you like killing people?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, do you actually like the process of killing? I know you kill for blood, it's—it's a self-preservation thing, I understand. But do you like it? Would you or did you ever kill for fun, not for blood?"
He thought about it for a moment.
"No."
I breathed a sigh of relief. If he had said 'yes', he probably would have been beyond my help.
"And when was the last time you...forced a girl?"
Again, he thought before answering.
"I think it was...May of last year."
Last May. Over a year ago. I hadn't expected it to be so long ago.
"Surprised?" he asked.
"Well, yeah," I admitted, "in a good way."
"I figured out how to talk to girls around then. The whole 'sit at a café' deal. I didn't need to force anyone."
"What about Liz?"
"I wasn't going to do anything with her...unless she wanted to. Just—"
"—kill her," I finished. There was a brief silence between us but it didn't matter. He didn't need to say anything to confirm what I said.
"Do you regret it? Do you regret what you've done to all those people?"
This time, his answer wasn't so quick. He averted his eyes and avoided my gaze as he thought about the question. My heart beat faster with each second that passed. It was a simple question, wasn't it? After what seemed like an eternity, he finally spoke.
"What would you do if I said no?"
Definitely not what I wanted to hear.
"No? No?" I could hardly believe it. "All those people! All those lives you ruined! Think about that! Those women could have had children, those people had lives that you just took from them. And you're saying that you feel nothing? You have to feel something!"
"Well, maybe I don't want to!" he yelled at me. I winced. He was angry again. "Maybe I don't want to feel anything! You want to know why? Because I couldn't live with myself if I did."
"What—" But he interrupted.
"You think that just because I'm a vampire, I lose everything from my human life? My morals, my values? I never even thought as a human about doing all the crimes I've committed. You think that just because of a change in diet, I can suddenly toss everything I've learned out the window and just turn off my conscience? No, because that would be ridiculous. And life would be too easy and when the fuck is life ever easy?"
He strode over to me and sat next to me on the couch, his face a contorted mix of pain, desperation and frustration.
"Don't you get it? The only way I can keep myself sane is by convincing myself that I haven't done anything wrong."
I stared at him, my mouth open in surprise. Why hadn't I seen it before? I was friends with a therapist for God's sake and we'd had the conversation about military soldiers all the time. How do people live with themselves after taking a human life? The answer: they tell themselves that it was necessary, it was the right thing to do. They make every attempt to reconcile their actions with their morals. And here he was, doing the same thing.
"If you want my help, if you want me to change you, you're going to have to accept that what you've done is wrong."
He sneered.
"Who said I wanted your help?"
"Why are you still here then?"
He turned away from me, not answering.
"I think this is what you've wanted all along," I said, "two years ago when you first came to me. You didn't just want a friend. You wanted someone you could talk to about this. You wanted someone to either validate your way of life or help you see through it."
"You seemed like a nice person. I thought you'd understand," he said quietly.
"Now, I do. But if you want me to do this for you, you're going to have to accept your crimes."
He took a deep, shuddering breath.
"Fine," he said, his voice slightly shaking, "I've done wrong. I'm a terrible person and I fucking don't deserve to live."
I shook my head.
"Everyone deserves to live. Even you."
He gave me a sharp look, his eyes piercing into mine. There was something in there I couldn't quite identify, something jarring and powerful but swirling just beneath the surface.
"You need to stop hurting people. You need to stop using women for sex."
"But lately, I haven't forced—"
I help up my hand to silence him.
"Not just that. You need to stop viewing them as a means to an end. We're people, too and if you don't want to have a relationship, that's fine but..." I hesitated, unsure of exactly how to express myself, "but Liz really liked you. Even if you hadn't planned on killing her, you were only dating her for sex. You were leading her on. That's wrong, too."
He opened his mouth—probably to argue my point—but closed it quickly. He knew I was right. But there was one more problem that would be much more difficult to solve. For him, it seemed that it was either kill or be killed.
"Can I ask you one more thing?"
"Anything."
"Do you want to die?"
"What kind of question is that?"
"Think about it. And I mean, really think about it. And then tell me."
A slight pause and then, "Yes. But not now."
"When?"
He frowned at me.
"The fuck if I know. Do you know when you want to die?"
He had a point.
"Besides, why does this even matter? I'm immortal, I can't die."
"Are you sure about that?"
He threw me an annoyed look.
"I'm invulnerable, remember?"
"To bullets and knives, maybe," I conceded, "but not to other things. You said animal blood got you sick. How sick?"
"It was like getting food poisoning. Stomachaches, throwing up, that sort of thing."
"Do you think if you drank enough of animal blood, you'd die?"
He opened his mouth to answer but then hesitated.
"I don't know," he finally said.
"And you feel hunger," I continued, "Otherwise, you wouldn't need to feel the urge to drink blood. People can die from hunger, you know."
He just looked at me, a thoughtful expression on his face. There was something new in his eyes, something I'd never seen before. Was it fear?
"What if you can starve yourself to death?"
"That's a terrible way to die," he murmured.
I swallowed.
"But it might be the only way."
He glanced at me sharply.
"Is that what you're saying? That I should kill myself now?"
"No," I said, my voice slightly shaking. I couldn't believe what I was about to tell him. He wouldn't take to it kindly but I had to do it. "I'm asking you to question if your life, the life of one man, is worth all the other lives you've taken."
There was a brief moment of silence as my words sunk in. When he finally understood my meaning, he narrowed his eyes at me. His glare looked murderous.
"You fucking serious?" he hissed, "You just said that I deserve to live and now you're saying that I should die, that I'm not worth this life?"
His temper was back. It wouldn't do. He needed to stay calm and rational for him to see that I was right. And there was only one thing I could do to abate his anger. I needed to show him that I cared. Taking a deep breath, I leaned over and placed my hand over his. The change in his face at the skin-on-skin contact—and the fact that I had voluntarily done it—was instantaneous.
"No one deserves death," I said quietly, "but you've made it clear that your life will result in countless numbers of deaths. Is that really fair?"
He looked down and entwined his fingers in mine.
"I'm not ready to die."
I bit my lip.
"There has to be a way around this. There has to be a way to be moral and still kill people."
"There is," he said suddenly. He looked at me, excitement spreading across his face. "You said it yourself earlier. Soldiers."
"You want to join a war?" I asked, not believing it.
"Yeah, why not? There are plenty of dead bodies in a war. No one will notice if I drain one of them."
"There aren't a lot of wars going on now," I pointed out.
"Not in the developed world, no. But the developing world is pretty fucked up. The Middle East, for example."
"You could euthanize the injured," I said slowly, catching on, "the people with no hope of surviving."
"Yeah, that too."
I turned to face him, my eyes wide.
"But you have to promise me something."
He raised an eyebrow at me.
"Promise me that you won't kill people who aren't fighting. No collateral damage. And you'll try to only drain people who are already dead."
He smiled at me and lifted one hand to gently touch my face. I willed myself not to move out of his reach. I needed him calm. If his anger returned, I knew he wouldn't be as willing to reconcile morality and his lifestyle.
"You really care about people, don't you?" he murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Even me."
"Yeah," I breathed, "even you."
The unidentifiable look in his eyes returned but it was more powerful now. His gaze held mine for what seemed like eternity until finally, he leaned forward slowly, very slowly, and brushed his lips against my cheek.
"I knew there was a reason I liked you," he murmured. He moved and pressed a light kiss on my nose.
"I—I have a boyfriend," I stammered.
"I know," he said as he kissed my other cheek, "But you owe me a promise."
"What?"
He drew back and smiled at me.
"I promise you: no collateral damage. I'll avoid killing. But I want one day every year."
"I don't get it."
"One day a year, I get to see you. I get to come talk with you and be with you."
The words echoed in my head. To be with me. He didn't mean...? My horrified thoughts must have shown on my face because he smirked and shook his head.
"Not like that. I mean, not unless you want to," his smirk grew even wider, "What I meant was: I get to come by and hang out with you. Just the two of us. For an entire day. And by day I mean the whole 24-hour she-bang."
There was a silence as I considered his request. This was what he wanted two years ago, wasn't it? Except he was asking for less, a lot less now. One day out of a year. That really wasn't much (but maybe it's plenty when you see yourself as immortal). I look over at him. He was watching me, staring intently, with what could only be hope sparkling in his eyes. Hope. From the way he spoke of his past, it sounded like hope wasn't something he felt too often. I felt an immediate pang of guilt. To give someone hope was dangerous. It raised the bar. It meant I had to constantly live up to their expectations or else things would fail. You always feel worse from someone letting you down than from someone you never expected much from in the first place.
But why would you let him down, an annoying voice in my mind asked me. But I was prepared for that question. There were a thousand ways I could let him down. A million. To be one of the few things tethering a mentally unstable person to humanity, to morality, was a heavy burden. One I most certainly did not want. How could I possibly be someone else's moral compass? It didn't make sense. Not that I was particularly immoral or anything. I was as righteous as the next person. But why me?
"Tick-tock, I'm not getting any younger you know," he said, chuckling at his own joke and interrupting my thoughts. I cast him an irritated look.
"I'm thinking."
"Well you think too much."
"If I say yes, can I go back on this arrangement at any time? Can I call it off?"
He blinked, surprised.
"Of course. But then I wouldn't hold up my end either."
Meaning, he would kill more people.
"This is bullshit," I said, "you're blackmailing me into giving you what you want. If you truly want to be good, it wouldn't have to come from me. You wouldn't need me."
He leaned back into the couch and smiled.
"It isn't about what I need babe, but what I want," he said, winking.
What he wants. What did I want? I wanted him to be out of my life. Most definitely out of my apartment. I wanted my peaceful nights back. I wanted that feeling of security. But I also wanted to know that given the opportunity to do good, I did good. That I just didn't sit by and pretend that he was someone else's problem. I wanted a clear conscience.
"Fine," I said so quietly that I could hardly hear myself, "it's a deal."
A myriad of emotions passed over his face. Incredulity. Disbelief. Happiness. Triumph. And finally something else I couldn't quite pinpoint but it was stronger than all the others combined. When he gave me this look, this look that made my heart beat ten times faster and my palms sweat, I felt as though I was on fire but doused in ice water at the same time. I almost forgot to breathe.
"Then, I have one last favor to ask of you," he said quietly.
I glanced sharply at him. What more could he possibly want?
"Can I kiss you?"
Ah, that. He's already done that without asking me anything. Why start asking for permission now? I shook my head.
"I have a boyfriend," I said firmly. He swallowed heavily and looked more vulnerable than I had ever seen him.
"I know," he said, making a choking sound as if saying those words pained him beyond measure, "and I know you'd never cheat on him and I'm not asking you to. It's just—it's just self-preservation thing, you know? I just want one kiss that's not stolen from you, something I can remember. Something...something real."
Real. I knew that feeling. That feeling you get from your memories when you live life but you're not actually living it. It's the feeling you get when your dreams make you feel so much more alive than reality. It's the feel of raindrops on your outstretched palms, the fragrance of roses hitting your nose, the warmth of the sun on your back. Everyone deserved at least one thing real. And so, silently apologizing to Neal for this transgression, I closed my eyes and nodded.
The feel of his lips on my own shocked me at first. For the first time, he was gentle. It was so different from the other times when he was rough, like he had something to prove. It was soft, sweet and slow. He didn't have anything to fight for; he got what he wanted. But it was more than that, I realized, as his hands wove into my hair. There was a sadness to it, a despair that was unspoken but conveyed all the same. When he finally pulled away, I recognized what it was. It was a goodbye. Was this really happening?
"See you in a year."
And with those words, he was gone and all I was left with was a quiet apartment and the taste of a promise on my lips.