mug back on the coffee table. I’ve met the girl in front of me at least a dozen times and I can’t remember her name. Soon enough, I hear Cale’s voice and I know I won’t have to involve myself in meaningless conversation.
“How do you feel?” He wipes ink off his light purple latex gloves.
I nod, the caffeine circling through my body. If there are two things that can bring me to life, it’s caffeine and blood. “Not bad at all. I think I’m going to head to my place for a while. Not sure if I should work tonight or not.”
Cale smiles. “Take this.” He hands me a black business card with raised blue lettering. “His name’s Davey. An old friend of mine from back in Philly. He called this morning and told me that something similar happened near Citizens Bank Park late last night.”
I scan the card, feel the punching touch of his name: Davey Rain.
Cale puts a hand on my shoulder. “He’s driving into town right now. He’ll be at the club in the afternoon. Make sure you’re there.”
I shove the card deep into my front jeans pocket. “What did you tell him about me?”
“Only the things that mattered,” he says. “He’s been around for a long time…a long,
long
time, Charlie. There’s news coming out of New York and Philly about this. It’s best to stay informed…and safe.” His eyes reflect the pale rays of sunlight peeking in from the front shop window.
“News?”
“Suicide angels.” He nods, pulls me aside. “Davey told me that at least three others were killed in Atlanta over the weekend. Two more in D.C. And, of course…one in Boston last night.”
I sigh for Abel, one of the only true friends I had. “Call me later,” I say, pushing the front door open. I pause when the cool winter wind hits my face. I’m being hunted, we’re all being hunted. Hundreds of years of living like unknown legends and now the minutes are numbered.
#
I was twenty-six years old when it happened. I can even remember the tune playing in the club. What I don’t recall is who infected me. “Psycho Killer” was ringing in the corners of The Roxy, reverberations of twangy guitar and David Byrne’s voice fizzing with angsty glee. I stepped outside for a cigarette, mild summer air a pure signal of heaven. The shadow approached within a second and when I felt the bite, the
sting
of new life enter my veins, I dreamt for a full day. It was like a black-and-white celluloid version of my life, the life that would never be again. I woke up in my apartment, limbs numb and lifeless. It took a full hour for the virus to greet me with dead, open arms. The hunger doesn’t resemble anything like that for human sustenance. It speaks your name with the voice of a dying child, whispers in the most remote corners of your brain. It consumes you, asks you to do anything for a single goddamn drop.
Here’s the thing about being me: it isn’t as easy as find, kill and drink. We’re not supernatural creatures that lurk in the shadows. Sunlight affects only those who prefer the darkness. The blood in our veins remains, but when it hits the air it reflects a steel gray quality that most people don’t even notice in daylight. The only way you’d know I am who I am is if you put an ear to my chest. You’d hear
nothing,
not even a single thump of my heart.
If my heart could beat, it’d be on overdrive. I can remember every inch of her body, the sweet smell of danger and lavender as if it were stuck to my skin like morning dew. Fourteen seconds were all it took to destroy Abel’s body like it was fluffy doll. Fourteen seconds were pastel beauty blasting through the door. Fourteen seconds were death and destruction.
I take hurried steps along the pavement, careful not to knock over any kind pedestrians on the busy Boston streets. My apartment is two blocks off of Cambridge Street in a part of town that’s often crammed with tourists and children. Some would say it’s not the perfect place to live for someone like
“How do you feel?” He wipes ink off his light purple latex gloves.
I nod, the caffeine circling through my body. If there are two things that can bring me to life, it’s caffeine and blood. “Not bad at all. I think I’m going to head to my place for a while. Not sure if I should work tonight or not.”
Cale smiles. “Take this.” He hands me a black business card with raised blue lettering. “His name’s Davey. An old friend of mine from back in Philly. He called this morning and told me that something similar happened near Citizens Bank Park late last night.”
I scan the card, feel the punching touch of his name: Davey Rain.
Cale puts a hand on my shoulder. “He’s driving into town right now. He’ll be at the club in the afternoon. Make sure you’re there.”
I shove the card deep into my front jeans pocket. “What did you tell him about me?”
“Only the things that mattered,” he says. “He’s been around for a long time…a long,
long
time, Charlie. There’s news coming out of New York and Philly about this. It’s best to stay informed…and safe.” His eyes reflect the pale rays of sunlight peeking in from the front shop window.
“News?”
“Suicide angels.” He nods, pulls me aside. “Davey told me that at least three others were killed in Atlanta over the weekend. Two more in D.C. And, of course…one in Boston last night.”
I sigh for Abel, one of the only true friends I had. “Call me later,” I say, pushing the front door open. I pause when the cool winter wind hits my face. I’m being hunted, we’re all being hunted. Hundreds of years of living like unknown legends and now the minutes are numbered.
#
I was twenty-six years old when it happened. I can even remember the tune playing in the club. What I don’t recall is who infected me. “Psycho Killer” was ringing in the corners of The Roxy, reverberations of twangy guitar and David Byrne’s voice fizzing with angsty glee. I stepped outside for a cigarette, mild summer air a pure signal of heaven. The shadow approached within a second and when I felt the bite, the
sting
of new life enter my veins, I dreamt for a full day. It was like a black-and-white celluloid version of my life, the life that would never be again. I woke up in my apartment, limbs numb and lifeless. It took a full hour for the virus to greet me with dead, open arms. The hunger doesn’t resemble anything like that for human sustenance. It speaks your name with the voice of a dying child, whispers in the most remote corners of your brain. It consumes you, asks you to do anything for a single goddamn drop.
Here’s the thing about being me: it isn’t as easy as find, kill and drink. We’re not supernatural creatures that lurk in the shadows. Sunlight affects only those who prefer the darkness. The blood in our veins remains, but when it hits the air it reflects a steel gray quality that most people don’t even notice in daylight. The only way you’d know I am who I am is if you put an ear to my chest. You’d hear
nothing,
not even a single thump of my heart.
If my heart could beat, it’d be on overdrive. I can remember every inch of her body, the sweet smell of danger and lavender as if it were stuck to my skin like morning dew. Fourteen seconds were all it took to destroy Abel’s body like it was fluffy doll. Fourteen seconds were pastel beauty blasting through the door. Fourteen seconds were death and destruction.
I take hurried steps along the pavement, careful not to knock over any kind pedestrians on the busy Boston streets. My apartment is two blocks off of Cambridge Street in a part of town that’s often crammed with tourists and children. Some would say it’s not the perfect place to live for someone like
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