Poison

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Whir-whir.

It took me a minute as I slowly came into conscious to realize what I was hearing was the heater. My eyes opened hesitantly, the black around them fading gradually like a camera lens. I shifted my legs against my comforter, wanting instantly to go back asleep but too awake now to—I flung my blanket off and sat up then immediately fell onto the pillow again. My head was throbbing, no, pulsating. I almost cried out as the dizziness settled, but once it did I noticed the weight of my own body, the ache, along with the complete disgust in the idea of food. I grabbed one of the extra pillows and put it over my eyes. I felt like I'd had about ten too many beers which followed an induced stumble into the street that ended with me plastered to the front of a semi going eighty.

I was pretty sure I hadn't been drinking last night. I had gone for a drive and was kidnapped by Thom, but he was—not dead. I'd seen the photos. The cops wanted to know if I'd intentionally convinced him to kill himself. I hadn't, but I might as well have. Yet, I'd seen him last night.

How did that make sense?

I recalled his eyes: dark, red, and animalistic; his tendency to move while I blinked, and then his teeth. A chill trickled from my spine to each of my limbs and my hand darted to my neck. My fingers burned from my skin and I pulled away. A steady pain radiated from the spot on my throat where I'd been bitten by the other one.

The other what? What were they?

I was fighting my logic as hard as I could, but the harder my neck throbbed, the louder the word seemed in my head.

Vampires.

Blood ghouls. Night stalkers. Blood suckers.

I resisted the urge to touch my wound again. Had that—man drank my blood? Had he tried to kill me?

Then why was I in my bed?

The pain increased to such a degree that I hissed so I wouldn't groan. I couldn't ignore it anymore. I rolled out of bed, clumsily, shakily and stumbled my way to the bathroom, it wasn't far at all—less than ten steps from my bed, but I kept needing to stop and grab whatever was nearby to keep from collapsing. I knocked things over on my desk and nearly slid to the floor trying to grab the wall before I got a good grasp on the doorway of the bathroom. When I fumbled for the light I instantly regretted it. The light, normally dim in my memory, was so bright, my eyes were watering before I could turn it off again. I buried my face into the towel hanging under the light switch trying to calm my breathing and dry my face.

After a moment, I slowly pulled the towel away, letting my eyes adjust before I tried to look around. A little light drifted into the bathroom from the draped window, reflecting off of the wall and to the mirror then back again. It was enough for me to take in my reflection.

I definitely looked hung over. The bags under my eyes made their dark irises look even smaller than normal, my skin pasty, my body hunched over. My neck was the worse. There was no wound, not a trace, no small red dots to show any kind of puncture marks, but my veins were raised, completely inflamed covering most of my neck. I tugged at my shirt to see how far it spread. The ruby threads had begun a steady crawl over my collar bone, a few touching the top of my breast, like tracks small creatures leave behind in the mud. They were heading straight for my heart.

I crashed out of the bathroom as best as I could and began stumbling down the hall.

"Mom!" I called, slipping on the stairs from the socks still on my feet.

I saw her head rise from its tilt over a book as she sat on the couch.

"Oh, you're up." She closed her book with a careful surety.

I grasped the rail at the bottom of the steps to hold me up. "Mom." I breathed again.

She was getting up slowly from the couch, not really looking at me, but looking stern.

"The police brought you home last night, passed out." I knew that voice. It was her "what would the neighbors think" voice.

"I know Mom, I—"

"Do you think that's appropriate?" Her eyebrows raised and so did her voice a few octaves, then she looked at me. "Hmm?" Her glare was enough to make me want to scream, she was looking right at me. Could she not see my neck?

I squeezed my mouth shut. There was no way she was going to lecture me for something completely bogus while I was dying.

She locked gazes with me, but neither of us budged, that's the pesky thing about genes.

"Fine." She exasperated quietly. "We will talk when you're not hung over. I'll get you something to eat."

"Mom, wait –"she ignored me and continued her trek to the kitchen. Clearly, she wasn't going to listen to me. Fine, I'd drive myself to the hospital.

I was glad to find my purse and keys right where they were supposed to be along with my moccasins, but my car wasn't. It wasn't in the garage and when I hobbled outside I didn't find it in the driveway or on the street either.

"Kae?"

I turned to see my neighbor, James standing in his own driveway. We'd gone to high school together and we were never really friends, but we were friendly. He'd always been especially kind to me.

"James. I need your help." I began to make my way toward him when I stumbled on the lawn. When I thought my hands would hit the grass, I stopped falling.

"Whoa." James said softly, holding me up carefully. "You okay?"

"No." I strained, then clenched my teeth, suddenly hit with a wave of pain in my head, light hurt again. I felt myself lowered to the grass and didn't care to object. Hopefully, he was smart enough to call 9-1-1. I didn't really know.

"Stay right here." He murmured hurriedly.

I crushed my palms against my eyes and groaned and stayed where I was. I thought the pain would lessen if I just sat here, but it steadily increased. "James?" I moaned too soft for myself to hear, it was hardly a whimper.

I heard the crunch of shoes on grass as James said, "Smell this."

I inhaled, strangely obedient.

Garlic?

My stomach instantly clenched and I gasped, flying forward onto my knees. I felt James shielding me, one of his hands wrapping around my hair, the other on the small of my back. My ears started ringing and then I began to vomit.

I don't know how long I knelt there chucking everything I had and even what I didn't, but I could have sworn I heard James as he rubbed my back say, "There you go. Let all of that venom out."

I'd finally started to stop, trying to catch my breath against James legs when I heard the sirens. I glimpsed my mother standing with her arms crossed in the driveway before an ambulance and then a cop car came to a calm stop in front of us. 

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Thom

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Here's something to satisfy you. :)

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I thought she would cry for me.

I mean, I'd hoped she would, just a little.

The table was cool. At least Thom knew it was supposed to be; he was able to recall the feeling like ice against his human skin. Now it felt no different from his cheek. The metallic scent pervaded his nose like someone had sprayed too much perfume, but it had a touch of purity to it, like water. He raised his head from the steel slab and quickly observed the dim, small room. It looked much like an interview room: a single overhead light, a table in the center, two chairs; one on either side. Thom occupied one; the other was intended for whoever was going to interrogate him. Not that Thom had ever been arrested for any reason before, but he'd watched crime shows from time to time.

There was a movement and Thom's eyes locked onto the one way glass in front of him. He could tell how thick it was, at least a foot in depth, which probably made it indestructible considering the shallow gashes here and there all over its surface. Something had tried to do it serious damage, and failed.

Whoever was on the other side of the glass walked to the door next to it, turning the knob.

"Where's Kaelyn?" Thom hissed just as the door opened a crack.

The man said nothing; he was scrawny, but not weak. Thom could see that much with a quick scan up his length, but his eyes held a knowledge, a wisdom. Thom couldn't begin to fathom its origin.

The man gripped the second chair leaning forward slightly.

"Calm down. I know that at your new age your moods are eccentric and intense, but you can control them."

He kept his gaze locked with Thom until Thom realized that his hands were digging into the table, his fingertips stinging. He released it clumsily, brushing his hands on his pants. His fingertips were singed, there must have been silver under the surface.

"We'll work on that." The man mumbled as he slowly sat in the chair.

Every movement he'd done up to this point hadn't seemed abnormal to Thom, but this seemed strangely slow.

A Styrofoam cup appeared in front of Thom, he missed how it got there, but it smelled warm familiar, almost like—but it wasn't. "What is that?" Thom sneered.

"A heated blood synthetic." The man answered. "We often refer to it as hot Kool-Aid. Little joke." The man didn't laugh, didn't even smile. Thom didn't flinch.

It didn't smell necessarily appealing, but not bad either. Thom didn't want it, but he picked up the cup and took a sip. Like he thought, he could drink more. It tasted like it wanted to be blood, but definitely wasn't like artificial sugar tried so hard to taste sweet. He knew he needed it, but only gave into that need so he didn't kill anyone later—in the name of food anyway.

"My name is Derek, Thomas." The man, now Derek said, but didn't offer his hand. Smart man. "Kaelyn is fine and you'll see that for yourself soon enough. I'll bet by that time you won't want to though."

Thom downed the rest of the drink and then slammed the cup on the table sending a definite thump through the room, crushing the cup into a small circle of what now looked like paper.

Derek's eyes moved to the cup, then to Thom's face. "You have a lot of fear and a lot of rage, but there's also a determination." His hand moved forward and he grasped the remains of the cup between his index and middle finger then dropped it nonchalantly into the nearby trashcan. "We're going to harness that determination. We're going to get you in control of your body, of your nature, of your desires and anything else that stops you from living like you want to."

(Thom knew he wasn't just offering him a free platter, there had to be something he wanted.)

Derek leaned forward and lowered his voice to a whisper, "I know this isn't an existence you chose. I can't rid you of it, unless death is what you want, but I can help you take advantage of it and possibly get revenge if you desire, as long as you help us."

Ah the catch. "And how would I do that?"

A smile appeared on Derek's face. "Oh, I think you'll like this part."