The Nightlife: New York - Chapter 3

Michelle had never done this before. She wasn’t certain it would work. Her own transformation hadn’t included an instruction manual. Many aspects of her life had been learned the hard way, through painful mistakes and experimentation. Her former master never explained––bastard had no regard for her or anyone else.

She watched Aaron as he convulsed and squirmed, tossing the covers off his feverish body. Seeing this trim, fit, well-endowed young man in her bed inspired a mess of conflicting emotions. A flush of arousal warmed her as she slid her hand over him, feeling his hot, feverish skin. His face pinched in anguish, and she wished there was more she could do beyond a soothing word and a cool, wet cloth. Her touch seemed to calm him. He constantly complained of thirst, so she fed him a little more blood, but not too much. She increased her own feedings to recover from Aaron’s demands.

As time stretched into the third night, and his fever hadn’t subsided, she considered that he might not survive the change. What a shame, such a lovely boy. More humane to kill him now, relieve his pain and misery. How long should the process take? Perhaps it was different for each person.

She kicked herself. Surely a mistake. She should have dumped him at Harlem Hospital and left him to die. What would she do with him if he survived? She had lived alone for decades, never planned to share her life with anyone. What a foolish, impetuous act. She should end it now, save both of them from years of complications.

She put her hands around his neck. It would be so easy, one flick of her wrist, spinal column severed. Dark eyes delirious with fever settled on her. For a moment he recognized her, and his expression morphed to relief. He mumbled something about my angel. The fool was hallucinating. He smiled at her with adoration and undisguised worship. That stopped her. She couldn’t hurt him. It wasn’t in her to be so cruel. She’d have to wait until he provoked her past his damnable boyish charm.

What would it be like to share her life with someone? It had been decades since she’d let anyone in, close and personal. She’d tried to have relationships with men before––what a disaster. A painful lesson she learned repeatedly––she didn’t mix well with people, not for any length of time. Those experiments always ended in death. No matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried, men always died. They were so frail, their bodies so easily broken, withered by time and sickness, by her need for blood. A sure recipe for heartache.

Maybe this would be different. Aaron would answer her command. He wouldn’t be able to beat and abuse her like her master did. Kid better watch himself. If he lost control, she knew how to handle him.

She reached back through the years to recall her life long ago with a male vampire. Dark memories of servitude under the whip of ferocious violence and malice. Her former master was a supreme bastard. But there were passionate moments of wicked pleasure. She remembered how they molded together in savage sexual adventures. He dominated her like no other, so strong, vicious, and she’d enjoyed it. And the synchronous bites! Those wonderful sensations of blood, sex and venom––an insane, chaotic blend. There was nothing like it.

Aaron would have his chance. She’d be gentle with him at first. He was too innocent. This time she was in control, the boy would answer to her in all things. But if he began to exhibit the signs, if he became anything like her former master, she’d end him without hesitation.

* * * *

Aaron woke to a bone dry thirst and a dull, throbbing ache in his chest. He heard a myriad of sounds ranging from snores and grunts to dishwashing and several televisions blasting over one another. He breathed in crisp, strong smells of linen, cotton, vinyl, paint, a woman’s perfume, carpet freshener, sweaty bodies and lemon furniture polish. Each scent had a distinct signature. He differentiated them all with amazing clarity.

“Where the hell am I?”

Bemichis. He’d left work and encountered the blonde and two cops. And the gunshot! He reached up to feel his chest.

“Holy shit!”

Nothing, not a mark on him. The gunshot wound was gone as if it never happened, although he felt some residual soreness. The bed covers slipped down over him as he moved. He reached under the sheet to find bare skin, not a shred of clothing. Though the bedroom was dark, he could see clearly. It seemed the room had light, but from where?

Definitely not his room or his apartment. This place had a feminine touch, the bedspreads, furniture, candles. A woman’s home. The perfume scent evoked something vaguely familiar––cloudy, dream-like memories of being soothed and comforted by an angel with a heavenly smile and golden hair.

Nothing made sense. He should be dead, or in the hospital. Yet he felt great.

He listened to noises coming from outside this room, but not just the other room. Were those sounds from neighboring apartments? The walls had to be ultra-thin. The sounds came to him as though people stood beside his bed.

Something waited at the edge of his perceptions, a sense of another person, a woman. She was coming to him, moving towards the door to this room. He felt an indefinable attraction to her. She opened the bedroom door, her golden halo of hair illuminated from behind by the living room light spilling through the darkness. His guardian angel.

He recalled how she held him, wiped his brow, tenderly ministered to him. She had somehow healed him, brought him out of the bowels of Hell.

He felt a magnetic pull to her, like an invisible line connected them. Michelle. Her name was Michelle, but he couldn’t recall how he knew it. She had come for him, and she had much to explain. How did he know that?

* * * *

Michelle studied him for a second, taking in the small details, the nuances of change. Aaron’s aura held a darker predatory color that had not existed prior. More attractive, somehow manlier, his half-covered torso begged her to reach out and touch him. She wanted to sink her teeth into him and experience sex with one of her own kind again.

She had taught herself to be careful with the fragile, delicate human men. Like a carnivore forced to subsist on a vegetarian diet, she hungered for meat. She needed a real man, a strong, virile vampire.

She restrained her carnal urges for the moment. Plenty of time for fun later. She didn’t want to scare her new companion. He should be brought into the fold gently. Though he had come through the change, his aura still displayed too much innocence. She sighed. She expected the vampire’s true nature would rear its ugly head soon enough. Until then, she’d handle him with kid gloves.

* * * *

“How does it feel to be reborn?” She smiled slyly.

“I could down a gallon of water right now. Beyond that I’m good, all things considered.” He tried for nonchalant, but felt childish and unsophisticated in her presence.

Aaron began to doubt she was actually an angel. He caught a darker sense of her, and the look in her eye added to the feeling. Mischief. This woman was not an angel. Far from it.

Vague memories of extreme burning pain surfaced in his mind, but it seemed like a weird dream. How could he have been in so much pain and yet here, in good health, not a mark on him? His mind raced as she advanced slowly. Confused, clueless, he remained silent.

“Many things, they change for you now. You have noticed all the petit noises, n’est pas? You can smell and taste everything, non? Your senses are acute.”

“Ahmm … yeah, I guess.” An unpleasant suspicion reared up. What if she’d drugged him … repeatedly?

“Listen, and I will explain.” She sat on the edge of the bed next to him. Her unwavering gaze never blinked. Creepy.

He finally got a good close look at her. Far more attractive than his first impression, Michelle’s eyes held a vibrant shade of green he’d never seen before. Her round face was pleasingly symmetrical with a narrow, elegant neck sweeping up to her cheeks. Graceful, very patrician. She had creamy-white perfect skin, and a light pink blush to her cheeks. Too perfect. She could have been an airbrushed painting, unnaturally beautiful. The smirk on her face led him to believe she knew exactly what he thought of her.

“Is difficult, we are strangers. But you must believe I speak the truth. Do you trust me, Aaron?”

“I’m pretty sure you saved my life. I guess I should trust you.” His false bravado sounded unconvincing.

Who was she? Why did she bring him to her apartment? He was fast losing his calm about this freaky shit.

She nodded. “I did something I promised to never do. I gave you new life. Is like a special virus. This allows for miraculous regeneration and healing. There are changes you will notice. You are very different now.” She sounded so sexy purring biological terminology with her poetic accent. He didn’t have the first clue what she was saying, sounded like scifi bullshit from a low budget TV show.

“Your body now needs regular infusions of fresh blood. Is the only nourishment you require. You will not consume food or drink, only fresh blood. You noticed the thirst is intense, oui?”

He didn’t know what to make of her as he stared at her with a raised eyebrow. Are you properly medicated?

Heedless of the insanity pouring from her sexy lips, she kept rolling like it was all real. “Arriver au point, you are now a vampire, and you must feed on fresh blood very soon.” Her cute accent had become irritating.

He shook his head, an involuntary reaction to his denial beating a drum rhythm of No! No! No! She must be playing a sick joke. At any moment people would fill the room with cameras and smiles yelling, “You’ve been punked!”

She didn’t give him time to think. “I see you do not believe me. Donc, I will demonstrate!”

With a flick of her hand she sliced her wicked nails across her left wrist and held it near his face. The wondrous smell of sweet, delicious blood assaulted his senses. His mouth watered at the strong, savory aroma pulling him closer to lick from her wrist. Her tasty offer tempted him. His mind reeled in revulsion, but thirst overwhelmed him. He latched onto her wrist with a snake-like chomp, sucking frantically. Awesome. He was sooo thirsty he couldn’t resist. He bit down hard into her open wound, his sharp canines punctured her flesh like biting into a juicy peach. Oh God, that’s wonderful, more, more, MORE! He devoured every drop of her succulent syrup. He’d never tasted anything like it. He didn’t think he could ever stop. He wanted to drain her arm and wring it dry like a sponge.

Michelle moaned. Her breathe quickened. She panted heavily like a dog and her legs squirmed. “Oui! Oui!” Small gasps of intense pleasure spilled from her lips. Suddenly she sat back. “Enough!”

Her command rang in a deep, resonating timbre. He reacted instantly and released his lockjaw hold on her wrist. The cold shower of truth hit him, drenching him with shock. He had fed from her slashed wrist like a bloodthirsty animal. He reeled and pitched, losing equilibrium. He leaned back against the pillow of the bed as his head spun. He couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe. He tried to deny the delicious smell of blood in his nostrils and the gut-gnawing hunger for more. He plugged his nose to think of anything other than the blood.

He couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed her blood. It was the most wonderful sensation, almost better than sex. Without a shadow of doubt, he knew he needed that blood. He’d do anything to get it, like a junkie craving a fix, like a fish needs water to breath. He had the blood smores, and he needed more. His burning, itchy, dry throat was bad, but to top it off he had a hunger, a potent need.

Michelle twitched and made little groaning sounds, still pulsing with her response to his bite. She watched him with a lazy-eyed look, as though drugged. “Mmm … la vache! Ooh … I like that very much.” She retained a lazy Garfield-the-cat smile.

She paused and regained her composure. “There are details I must explain and then we will see to our needs properly.” She wiped a hand across her face and her unblinking eyes held him. “When you were dying from the gunshot, I fed you the same way, from my blood. My blood has changed you. We are the same now, but you are also tied to me. We share a special connection. You are blood of my blood and you will answer to me when I command.”

Michelle held his gaze with a look of apology. “I am sorry. Is the only way to save your life. Your injuries were too severe.” Her eyes begged his forgiveness. “Now you must consume fresh blood every night and learn control. I teach you how we live. Is simple. There are many benefits and pleasures. The most obvious; you age very slowly, like dog years in reverse. Fifty years is one year to you.” She smiled at him hopefully.

Shocked by his ravenous consumption of her blood, the implications of her words seeped in gradually. He sat dazed and confused, wishing people would jump out of the closet and tell him this was all a ridiculous gag.

Watching him, she licked her lips … almost in anticipation. “You are now very strong, many times stronger than before. You can move much faster. People will be slow motion, like turtles. Don’t believe the merde on television.” She tapped her fingers on his chest. “You are not immortal. You can die, but is very difficult. Your body is resilient and you recover quickly.”

He was at a loss for words. He stared at her, then glanced at the closet, hoping someone would emerge and tell him he was the victim of a horrible vine video joke.

“You and I share a bond that cannot be broken. You will know things about me. I can send to you. You are sending to me. Is like telepathy. Oui? You understand? Comprends?” He nodded in silence, but understood nothing.

She squinted as if she knew he wasn’t listening to her insanity anymore. “I will teach you to close your mind. Is like a radio station to me. I hear the station all the time.”

That got his attention. He popped up from his dazed stupor. “You’re hearing my thoughts right now?”

She smiled reassuringly. “Oui, reste calme, silly American. This is no problème. I told you we are connected. I will show you how to remain private in here.” She tapped on her head and smiled again.

He returned her smile with embarrassment. He caught the distinct impression she approved of him. He had no cause for shame or concern. The truth of it staggered him. She’s in my head! Oh. My. God. She’s in my fuckin’ head!

Her smile let him know that she understood. It was okay. But it wasn’t okay! Nothing would ever be okay again. This beautiful, callous, psychotic, foreign woman had invaded his mind, sending him messages and reading his thoughts. What a mindfuck! This is really happening.

“Also important, we live the nightlife, after dark. No sunlight. We are extremely sensitive to the sun. You will burn in the sun. We sleep all day.” She pointed to the windows covered in something solid black and sturdier than a curtain––a board? Her bedroom windows were completely sealed off.

“No!” He grabbed his head. “No! This is too much. It’s too fast.” He shook his head trying to dislodge the crazy shit pelting his mind. “This is too weird!”

Her delicate touch brushed his arm, trying to reassure him. “Don’t worry. I will not abuse my authority over you. You must trust me. You have no choice. C’est la vie.” She shrugged her shoulders in a flippant manner.

“As soon as you tell me where my clothes are, I’m gone. You got a great scam, but I’m not buying it.” It was all a cruel joke––had to be.

He looked around for his clothes. Michelle reached out to rest her hand in his. He instantly felt a sense of rightness, that everything would be okay. She was there for him, she had it all figured out. Was she manipulating his emotions through their weird connection? Then he noticed her unblemished wrist. No marks at all. She’d cut herself minutes before but now…

No cuts, no scabs.

That was it.

He had enough Twilight Zone for one night. “You’re screwing with my head! What kinda drugs did you give me?” He let go her hand and jabbed a finger of accusation at her flawlessly healed skin. “That is not right! I saw you bleeding!”

He was reaching the edge, staring into the abyss of madness, where reality and insanity blend together in an inseparable concoction that leaves men babbling in the street. He was about to lose it.

“Oui. This is the way of things with our kind. One of the many benefits of this life.”

Michelle stood abruptly. “Put your clothes on. I will show you, our life is simple.” He blanched.

He was naked beneath the covers. He must have been naked when she was doing whatever she did to him. She smiled and patted his hand in a motherly fashion.

“Americans are so silly with your modesty. Don’t worry. I have not done anything with your body. Not yet…”

With that she walked out of the room smirking and closed the door behind her. He instantly knew there were clothes for him in the top drawer of the dresser. He knew like he had known her name without a single word spoken.

She’s in my fucking head again! Oh. My. God!