Samantha Moon Phantasm, page 23
part #9 of Vampire for Hire Series
“Why?” I asked. “Why do I have to care?”
“Didn’t you take, like, an oath to care?”
“To protect and serve?”
“Yes, that.”
“No. That’s the police.”
“But if you don’t care, then you are falling into their trap, playing right into their hands.”
I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, fighting a feeling inside me...or, rather, trying to understand my lack of feeling. My lack of caring for the missing hikers.
It’s her, I thought.
No, it’s me.
I gripped the steering wheel more tightly. The conversation was making me feel uncomfortable. I suddenly needed some air, although air is not what I needed, ever. I rolled down the window and got a breeze going. The day was warm, and the street was mostly quiet. The old lady with her labradoodle was gone. For now.
I had a sudden, exciting image of breaking the old lady’s neck, twisting her head so hard that she died right there in my hands, while I feasted from her spasming corpse.
“Holy shit, Sam. Please tell me you didn’t just think that.”
“She’s asking for it.”
“No, she’s not, Sam. She’s a concerned citizen, wondering why two women are parked on the street for hours on end.”
I felt the anger rise in me. I felt a strong need to lash out at Allison for being such a stupid bitch. It took all I had to not say something horrible...and to not do something horrible either. I held my hands in my lap, interlocking my fingers, putting myself under house arrest. I rocked back and forth, releasing some of the energy.
A moment later, when I had calmed down, I heard Allison audibly exhale, too. She sensed correctly that the worst had passed. For both of us. Allison was, after all, a powerful, albeit new, witch. There was no telling what she would have done to me in return.
“That was scary, Sam.”
I shook my head, looking down and rocking, rocking.
“But I think what’s scariest of all is that I...” she paused, tried again. “Is that I know that was all you.”
She was right, of course. The entity within me—Elizabeth—was still firmly caged in my mind. This last little outburst had been me. All me.
After a moment, Allison looked at me. There was sweat on her forehead. “What does it mean?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“And you really don’t care about the missing hikers?”
“I’m trying to,” I said, then paused and looked away. “But some people deserve to die.”
“I think I need to go, Sam.”
I nodded. “I think you should, too.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Good evening, Moon Dance.
When you say it that way, Fang, I wrote in my little IM window, I always hear Bela Lugosi’s Dracula.
Maybe that’s how I’d intended it to sound, Sam. What’s on your mind?
My fingers briefly hovered over the keyboard before I typed: How can I keep doing my job...if I no longer care?
Care about what?
If people die?
His answer came a half minute later: I’m not sure what to say to that, Moon Dance.
But surely you agree, I wrote. We are the same, you and I. We are hunters, are we not?
We are, Sam. But we can decide who to hunt and what to hunt and when to hunt. Or to not hunt at all. You have a viable source of blood from a willing donor.
I shook my head there on my couch, although he couldn’t see me shake it. The lights were out and, although it wasn’t quite twilight yet, the room was dark enough. The sun had set about an hour ago and I was feeling...hungry. Allison had left before my feeding, and my body was letting me know it. My stomach never growled, nor did I feel hungry, as I remembered it back when I was mortal. No, this was different. This was a physical need. I suspected this is what a heroin addict felt—an overwhelming desire to satisfy the deepest yearning. To the point where rational thought went out the window.
I missed my feeding today, I wrote. I think I was scaring her.
You’re scaring me, Sam. You have the cow and pig blood packets.
Fuck the packets.
I’m coming over. I have my own packets. Human blood. Are you home?
Yes.
Sit tight.
He logged off.
Except I didn’t sit tight, whatever the hell that means. I closed my laptop and stood and paced my small room and wished like hell my living room was bigger so I could pace in longer steps. I didn’t have to live this way. I could have more money. I could take the money I needed from those who had it. I could then take their lives, too. I could take and take and take, and nothing could stop me, not ever.
I paced the small room and shook my hands, then ran my fingers through my hair. I was hungry. Starving. I shouldn’t have let her leave without first feeding from her. I had cow and pig blood in the garage, mixed with all sorts of filthy pollutants.
I deserved better than that.
I paused at my big living room window. It looked out from my end of the cul-de-sac, all the way down the street, itself lined with houses on either side. Most had big trees out front. Lots of cars were parked out front, too. It was evening. My kids were with my sister. I had begged her to take them. I wasn’t feeling like myself...I’d told her. She had looked oddly at me when I had dropped them off.
Now, along the street, I saw some kids playing. A sort of chasing game as they weaved in and out of parked cars. Reckless. Careless. Shitty parenting. I watched the kids some more. Laughing and now playing a game of tag. Refreshing, actually. Still, why would you let your kids play outside when there were predators out there? Predators watching them, even now. Predators who would snatch their kids away.
Stupid fucking parents.
I paced in front of the window. I wondered what those same parents would think if they knew an honest-to-god vampire lived on their very street. Something that drank blood and stayed up at night and watched their children play.
I shook my head, rubbed my eyes and paced some more...and then, I saw it. The thing I had been hoping to see. It was exactly what I needed, but hadn’t known, until now.
It was a tomcat, walking along the wall that separated my front yard from my neighbor’s front yard.
Before I could think, before I could plan, I was out my front door, pouncing faster than I ever thought I could, and certainly faster than the cat had expected.
It was a short time later when I heard the familiar voice behind me. “Ah, shit, Sam.”
I pushed the remains of the cat away, tossing aside a leg that I had been sucking the marrow out of.
“Aaron,” I said, using Fang’s assumed name. He was, after all, officially on the run and wanted for murder. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Fang spent the next half hour cleaning me up, and cleaning my place up, too.
He deposited what was left of the cat in a heavy trash bag, along with my clothes, which he had made me strip out of in the bathroom and pass through to him. I noted that he averted his eyes.
Rather chivalrous of him.
I also noted that I was still ravenously hungry. The cat hadn’t been nearly enough, although it had, for now, satisfied my need to kill something.
My overwhelming need to kill something.
And when I had killed it, when I had held its broken body in my hands and tore into it with my mouth, I knew something inside of me had died...and might stay dead forever.
My humanity.
This was, I was certain, the first time I had killed something that didn’t deserve to die, something that hadn’t done anything to me. Something that was, in fact, innocent. The cat was not only dead...but I had torn it to shreds, even going so far as breaking apart its bones to get to the good stuff inside.
“This is not like you, Moon Dance,” said Fang from my living room, where he was presently wiping up the bloody mess from the wood floor.
I was dressed in a bathrobe. The now-bloody rag he was using intrigued me. “I suppose not,” I said, and sat down on one end of the couch and watched him.
“You always had so much self-control.”
“I was weak then.”
“No,” said Fang. “You were yourself.”
“Well, this is me now. Get used to it. Did you bring the blood?”
“It’s in the refrigerator.”
He had barely finished the sentence when I was moving, flashing across the room—and probably flashing him, too. I didn’t care if I flashed him. I only cared about the blood.
Human blood.
From Fang’s own blood bank.
And there it was, in a white paper bag. Heavy bag, too, full of life, full of my sweet addiction.
I pulled out the first clear packet. Fang had used plastic medical bags to store his blood, all very official looking. I bit through the corner, spitting out the plastic, and drank deeply from it. I noted immediately—all over again—the difference between human and animal blood.
So different, I thought. So perfect. And so right for me. Clearly, the entity within me preferred human blood.
No, I thought, I preferred it.
I started on the second.
“Easy, Tiger,” said Fang.
I opened my eyes. Yeah, I think they might have rolled back into my head. Like a shark. No, like a predator. Fang was leaning a shoulder against the kitchen doorway, watching me with an expression of bewilderment, amusement and concern.
Pick an expression, asshole, I thought.
And as I drank, I sensed myself slipping a little further away. A little further offshore, so to speak. The tide of hate and anger and hunger was pulling me further out to sea.
“Penny for your thoughts,” said Fang, which was almost funny, since the man had once read my thoughts with ease. Now, no more, being a fellow creature of the night.
I dropped the second bag on my kitchen floor, the remnants of which splattered over my bare feet and up onto the base of my refrigerator. Blood had also spilled onto my robe in my haste to suck down the packages.
I started on the third bag when it occurred to me that I’d killed my neighbor’s cat, Tinker Bell.
It hadn’t been a stray tomcat. It hadn’t been wild. In fact, I had chewed through its collar in my haste to get to its neck, even spitting out the little jingle bell it wore. Something inside me had dehumanized it, so to speak. Had rendered it into nothing but a stray, when, in fact, it had been something: a loving house pet.
But what if, instead of Tinker Bell, one of my elderly neighbors had walked past? Would I have rendered one of them into nothing as well? Would I have convinced myself they were homeless? Or meth addicts? Or something beneath me? Would they, even now, be wrapped in a trash bag, rendered into shreds?
Or what if my kids had been home? Would I have dehumanized them, too? Would they even now be as dead as Tinker Bell?
The thought scared the unholy shit out of me, and I dropped to my knees and buried my face in my hands, and as I wept, I heard a voice not very deep inside my head—my own voice, in fact—whisper: “Pathetic.”
Chapter Twenty-six
“Rough day, Moon Dance?”
“Shut up,” I said, and tried to laugh but failed miserably. It sounded halfway between a cough and a sob.
We were sitting on my bed, with the shades pulled down, and drinking ice water. I couldn’t stand the thought of more blood. I’d had my fill for tonight. For many nights.
“It’s safe to say that you just saw me at my worst.”
“Well, if that’s your worst, Moon Dance, then I think we’re going to be okay.”
“No,” I said. “You don’t understand. Well, maybe you would understand. Actually, you would understand better than most.”
“You’re rambling, Sam.”
“That’s me,” I said. “Ramblin’ Sam.”
“And what is it you think I don’t understand?”
“It might have been only a cat—oh, God, Tinker Bell—but I seriously lost all control of myself.”
“It was only a cat—not to say that Tinker Bell wasn’t an awesome cat. So try to relax. Deep breaths. You didn’t kill anyone, right?”
I nodded, perhaps with a little less conviction than he wanted.
“Right?” he asked.
“Right,” I said. “I didn’t kill anyone. I swear.”
“Pinky swear?”
“Yes, dammit. Just the cat, and I feel terrible enough as it is.”
“Terrible is good, Sam.”
“What do you mean?”
I had my down pillow laid over my lap. Fang was sitting opposite me, legs crossed as well. He was as tall as Kingsley, certainly, but not as big, not by a long shot. No one was. Perhaps ever. I doubted Kingsley could sit cross-legged on a bed to save his life. Having tree trunks for legs had that effect.
Speaking of Kingsley, I knew he would not be happy to know that Fang and I were currently sharing my bed. Of course, we were both sitting on my bed, and one of us was currently doubting her sanity, but guys tended to overlook such minor details. I had no reason to hide it from Kingsley, and I would tell him later, and he would just have to get over it. For now, Fang was the only vampire I knew, and certainly the only one I trusted.
“It’s good that you feel terrible, Sam. We need you to feel terrible. That terrible part is your humanity.”
“But it didn’t feel terrible in the moment. It felt right. Damn right.”
“I have no doubt, Sam.”
Fang rested his elbows easily on his knees. He was a good-looking guy. Straight nose. Bright eyes. His pale complexion went without saying. Earlier in his transformation, he had gone to a dark place, and had stayed there for a while. During so, my relationship with Kingsley had blossomed all over again, and Fang and I had lost touch for many months. Our rebuilding was slow. A few emails. A few texts, and then the IM-ing started again. Officially, we were the last two people on earth to still instant message.
Anyway, I was glad he had pulled himself out of it. Mostly, I was glad to have my Fang back in my life again. Our relationship seemed to have evolved into a true friendship, which was what I needed. He seemed to be mostly okay with it.
Now, he studied me long and hard, and I knew he was wishing like crazy that he could dip into my thoughts again. He was my first, so to speak. My first telepathic link. And, as with all firsts, he held a special place in my heart.
“I think, Moon Dance, that the key here is to never allow yourself to get to that place again.”
“What place?”
“That place of darkness. Hear me out. The Librarian told you that the key to defeat the thing within you—”
“And within you, too, I might add.”
He nodded. “Yes, but so far, the thing within me has stayed buried deep, as had been the case with you.”
He was right. Elizabeth had lain dormant for many years, only recently making an appearance...and making my life a living nightmare in the process.
Fang went on: “Anyway, the Librarian had told you that the key to defeating her was with love.”
“He did, yes. Maybe he’s the original hippie.”
“Or maybe he knows what he’s talking about,” said Fang. “What if the love he’s referring to is...love for yourself.”
“I’m not following.”
“Exactly,” said Fang. “You have spent so long hating yourself for what you are. Hating yourself for what you have become. Hating the thing within you. Hating your predicament. Hating Danny. Hating anything that has come up against you—”
“And my nails.”
I held up my hands. “I hate my nails.”
“Right, your nails. Anyway, my point is this: your own self-hatred has awakened the beast within you. Literally. That is why, I think, she has made such a strong showing. You have created an environment within yourself for her to flourish.”
“Hating myself is kinda my thing.”
“I know, Sam. But you didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t deserve this. You deserve love. Self-love.”
His words hung in the air, and I did my best to absorb them. Truthfully, the concept of loving myself seemed...foreign. Which shouldn’t be the case. Not for me, not for anyone.
“Self-love,” I said again, and for some reason, I giggled.
“Not that kind of self-love, Samantha Moon! But surely that wouldn’t hurt either.”
And, yeah, we both laughed...and, yeah, I’m pretty sure I would be keeping this last exchange from Kingsley. The big oaf didn’t need to know everything, dammit. Of course, the poor guy was currently in lockdown mode at his residence. I was never, ever permitted to see him the day before the full moon or the day after. Which was fine by me. At this time of the month, he tended to be grumpy as hell anyway.
“You said something about never letting myself get to this point again. What did you mean by that?”
“You will need to be diligent in your feeding, Samantha. Get yourself on a regular schedule. Go back to the cow and pig blood, as filthy as it is.”
“Wait, why?”
“Hear me out. It’s filthy and disgusting, yes, but the key here is that you did not crave that blood. You did not hunger for it. You consumed it only to stay alive. However, you only awakened the beast within when you began consuming human blood on a regular basis.”
“She prefers human blood,” I said, nodding.
“Then don’t give her what she wants.”
“Don’t feed the beast, you mean?”
“Right.”
“But I need blood—”
“Of course you do. We both do. Our bodies have been forever altered by the entities within. But we don’t need human blood. You don’t need human blood. Cow and pig blood satisfy your cravings.”
“But I’m not as strong—”
“Perhaps not. Or perhaps that’s a false belief she’s given you.”
“I may not be able to go back—”
“You can, Sam. You have to. Or next time I come here...”
He didn’t have to finish. We both knew what he meant. The next time he came here, he might not see a dead cat...but a dead person.
