Page 14 of Blood Lust

“I am cooperating.” I add a smug smirk.

“Look, Mr. Parker, we’re here to do what’s best for you,” Finnegan continues. “I’ve read and studied your case. Read your testimony. We can certainly rehabilitate you enough to whereyou can enjoy a bit more freedom while you’re here. But we need a lot more willing participation from you.”

I’m not crazy; not then, not ever. Annie was sacrificed to force my awakening, to make me see the truth of what I am. And now that I know, there’s no chance in hell I’ll let them keep pumping me full of tranquilizers, no way I’ll swallow another pill to erase who I’ve become.

“I’m not crazy,” I slur adamantly.

“Aaron? You actually think you’re a vampire?” Carter seeks to confirm it.

I hold my tongue and sigh in frustration.

“Vampires are supposed to be immortal,” Finnegan says. “Aaron, your arms are scarred, and you will die if you keep sucking out your own blood. This is not healthy behavior.”

I think about how it felt when I held Annie in my arms inside her car the night of her death, and how her warmth and essence quickly left her body. As soon as I heard her last breath, her body became cold. I knew immediately that she was gone. If Annie, the only person who ever cared for me, didn’t deserve my restraint, certainly these lab-coated pricks questioning me over and over again don’t either.

I look up at Dr. Carter and stare at her skinny neck. Wrinkled at its center, not much to look at. Still, the longer I remain in isolation will surely make the most withered and loose-skinned specimen seem as if it’s a delicious, plump drumstick.

I run my tongue across my canines and suddenly feel a pep run through my body as the last of the Thorazine finally runs out of my system. I make sure they both see my burgeoning hunger. They recoil as I stand up spryly from my metal bed.

The physicians take a couple of steps back, desperately trying to come off as if they’re still both in control of the situation.

“Mr. Parker, we’re here to help,” Finnegan repeats.

“Then don’t try to change who I am!” I bark.

“Aaron,” Carter interjects, shaking her head. “Listen, calm down.”

“I was born with these fucking teeth. You can’t change me!”

“Then you’re going to be in isolation for the rest of your life.” Dr. Finnegan backpedals to the cell door with Dr. Carter by his side.

I hate being here, but again, I’m not crazy. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wandering the halls of an asylum like some useless zombie. But thinking about my last night with Annie, her blood pooling at my knees, soaking through the fabric of her car seat, elicits something in me that I can no longer control.

My nostrils flare and my eyes are blinded momentarily, as if I have an extra set of primitive eyelids in them, like a white shark. I lunge at Dr. Carter, the fairer of the two, and go straight for her neck. I sink my fangs into her scrawny neck and an orgasmic feeling initially races through my mouth, then through my chest, eventually settling in my groin. Oh, how I’ve missed that salty, metallic, flavorful taste.

I open my eyes and unlatch myself for a breather. Dr. Carter squirms on the floor and yells and screams for help. Suddenly, the room goes dark. I don’t remember being hit in the head with a baton, but it happens. Dr. Carter is no prize, but her raisin-like pencil neck is enough to quench my thirst. Unfortunately for me, it’s also the last time my fangs penetrate someone else’s skin.

Shortly after knocking me out, they muzzle me. But that isn’t the worst thing to happen… My teeth, my precious canines, are now officially considered contraband within these walls, and can be removed at any time.

Chapter Twelve

I’m nine years old when I watchSilence of the Lambson the VCR in our living room. Mom is asleep after coming home from working the swing shift at the Sizzler, and Dad has already left us, so I take advantage of the lack of parenting by watching our collection of R-rated movies.

I see my first naked woman in a movie called Zapped with Scott Baio. It also teaches me what experiencing true fear is like. Adult fear. Hannibal Lecter is no boogeyman; he’s evil incarnate. Someone who I never imagine I’ll be able to relate to.

Ten years ago, I never would’ve believed that he would become my reflection, that doctors would strap me to a bed, clamp a muzzle over my face, the same kind Anthony Hopkins wore in the movie. To them, I’m not just dangerous. I’m Hannibal Lecter-dangerous, a ravenous, inhuman thing, shackled in medieval restraints.

But I was not trying to kill Dr. Carter. Not really. I didn’t want to maul her, didn’t dream of peeling the skin from her neck like some feral animal. I just needed… a taste. A single, fleeting sip.

It isn’t about domination. It isn’t even about anger, not entirely. But she’s cold. Calculating. A condescending bitch who eyed me like I was a monster. So I lunged.

And yeah, maybe Dr. Finnegan would’ve been the logical choice, but the idea of sinking my teeth into some old man’s neck? No thanks. Some hungers have standards.

I no longer smell bleach. I miss that smell because the mask I’m being forced to wear smells like rotten meat. I don’t think they’ve ever cleaned the damn thing. Dr. Finnegan and Dr. Carter speak endlessly about rehabilitation, but the hospital’s protocols, or lack thereof, seem to support punishment in subtle ways. Contrition requires forgiveness and empathy.

Look, I know I’m a selfish beast, but if Finnegan and Carter truly care about me, they’d work with the toolset and framework nature gave me. Being forced to stand, while tied up and muzzled, has me contemplating suicide.

I close my eyes and try to sleep, but the bastards always keep the lights on in my room. I’ve lost track of time. I never know when it’s day or night.

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