Jo Bissell

“People who cease to believe in God or goodness altogether still believe in the devil. I don’t know why. No, I do indeed know why. Evil is always possible. And goodness is eternally difficult.”

- Anne Rice, Interview With a Vampire

***

 

Alone in the stone cell, Julien paced the perimeter until finally sliding his body down the unforgiving wall opposite the cell door. With her final words still stuck in his head, he focused on the cracks in the stones and the number of blocks stacked to form his enclosure. He tried to memorize the angles and the dimensions of the space instead of allowing thoughts of her warm curves pressed against him to overcome his focus. When the vision of her bright blue eyes came into his head, he changed his attention to the ceiling, taking in the cobwebs in the corners, the dim bulb hanging above, and the smell of mildew hanging in the air. As his mind fell upon the memories of their final moments together, he ground his fingernails into the hard stone beneath him.

    His concentration wavered as something slipped through the bars of the cell door. Even in the dim lighting, he immediately recognized the medical grade pint of packed red blood cells. Although freshly sated by the girl’s last remaining ounce of life, the blood still called to him. The more he tried to ignore its presence, the louder the call became. His eyes repeatedly drifted back toward the bag as his tongue ran over his teeth. He sniffed the air, relieved that the scent of the bag’s contents remained trapped by the sterile sealing process.

    His jaw clenched, and his fists tightened as the pain built in the back of his throat. Picturing himself back in France in the Church of Saint-Pierre de Montemartre, he swallowed back the saliva that collected in his mouth as he closed his eyes and began to chant.

    “AVE MARIA, gratia plena, Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.1”

    With his eyes closed, he chanted the words over and over, repeating them until they became senseless in his mind. Placing his head between his knees, he squeezed his eyes closed tighter. When he started to wonder what blood type was written across the bag in bold letters or about how fresh it might be, he changed prayers. When the memories of the sensation of his lips on warm flesh, the sound of a pulse echoing in his ears, or the taste of that first drop of blood on his tongue entered his mind, he changed prayers. When he remembered her scent in his nostrils and her flavor in his mouth, he changed prayers.

    Recognizing her footsteps and her smell, Julien did not look up as Agent Wolf stood in the doorway. After a long silence, she finally spoke. “Mr. Durant, tell me, why should I spare you?”

    “You should not,” he said.

   “And why is that?”

   “I am a monster. I deserve to be ended. I wish to be ended.”

   “And why should I give you what you desire?” Her voice hinted at genuine curiosity.

   “You should not.”

   She said nothing else as her footsteps disappeared down the long corridor. Silence filled the cell once again. He was alone, alone with the blood.

   Imagining himself back in the Spiritual Exercises, he started to chant again. He had conquered the evil and disorder within himself once so many years ago; it could be done again. Ruth taught him that. It took losing her to prove to him that he had the choice, and her loss gave him the strength to take it.

Even though he had witnessed her passing with his own eyes, her presence still haunted his every thought. He sensed her fear and despair as if she sat next to him now. But now she was dead, and he sat alone in the stone cell.

________________________________

 

Chapter One

 

“Goodness is something chosen. When a man cannot choose he ceases to be a man.”

- Anthony Burgess, A Clockwork Orange

 

***

 

He had waited too long. Intense hunger was all that drove him to fight the weakness that threatened to let him expire. Two days ago, his intentions were to let his end find him, but as usual, the extreme pain of his hunger became too much to fight any longer. His need pulled him like a magnet from his bed, down the elevator, and into the parking garage below the building. Crawling into the driver’s seat of his black two-seater, he brought the engine to life.

   With a squeal of his tires, he pulled into the street toward Independence Avenue, his favorite hunting ground. His eyes found her standing stiffly on a corner with another female. As he slowed, her “friend” pushed her toward his vehicle and gave her a slap on the thigh. “Ooo, a Porsche. Lucky you. You can do this, girl,” she said with a drunken-sounding slur and a giggle. Once again, the streets of Kansas City had blessed him.

Rolling down the window, he forced his most charming smile. As their gaze met, he noticed the momentary flash of panic in her blue eyes. Had she noticed the lack of color in his sunken eyes? The fact that his once thick dark locks were greying and falling out? Or was it the pale skin, which now flaked away at his cheekbones, and the thinning of his eyebrows that caused her alarm?

   Still, she leaned into the window, causing her long, dark hair to tumble over her shoulder. Her heat hit him like a wave, washing her intoxicating scent over him. Hearing her heart pounding in her chest, his eyes instinctively drifted down to the cleavage positioned so perfectly above the vital organ. She would be an excellent choice for his evening plans. He almost grabbed her then and there, but instead clenched the steering wheel tight in defense.

   “This is a dangerous neighborhood, sweetheart.” Giving a slight smile, he shook his head with feigned empathy.    “You really should not be out here so late... and all alone.” It was his usual line. “Allow me to take you somewhere a bit nicer, won’t you?” With a quick head motion to the passenger seat and a wink, he released the automatic locks.

   “Aren’t you a gentleman?” A flush slipped across her cheeks as she smiled and laughed nervously. “A gentleman with cash, I assume.” she said in a sweet voice with a hint of southern cadence.

   “Of course. Your company will be well compensated.”

   As she walked around the car to the passenger door, he watched her movements like a cat watches a fish in a bowl. The shoes she wore were clearly too tight and too tall, based on her awkward gait, but the clingy green number she wore more than made up for it in the way it showed her soft curves. He wanted to take her right there, but he would have to be patient. How had he gotten so lucky tonight? This one would be worth the wait.

   As she sat next to him, she reached a hand over to stroke his thigh with another nervous giggle. Instinctively, his body tensed, but she did not pull away. The warmth of her touch crept through his jeans and straight into his groin.    He studied her from the corner of his eye. She was certainly younger than his usual selections, and more attractive. In fact, compared to most of his ladies, she seemed radiant. He almost felt guilty about taking her.

   Almost.

   He drove to his usual hotel of choice, a few blocks down the road. It was a bit more expensive, but cleaner and less suspicious than the ones “the girls” hung around.

   “What do you prefer to be called, m’Dear?” Hoping she would not notice, he leaned toward her and inhaled her scent again.

   “Oh, um, you can call me Magdalen.” Seeming flustered, she cleared her throat and gave him a coy look.

   “Ahhh.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a one-hundred-dollar bill and watched as her eyes widened. “All right, Magdalen. Go get us a room, please. This should be plenty. Use a fake name, and tell them you are alone if they ask. Understand?”

   Nodding obediently, she removed her hand from his thigh to accept the money.

   “Good. Then meet me at that back door there, when you are done. And if you are thinking about taking the money and running, there will be more if you stay. Much more.”

   With the money in hand, she exited the car and disappeared inside the building. He could feel his anticipation mounting. Soon this unbearable desire would be quenched. His mouth watered at the thought of what was to come.

   While he attempted to wait patiently for her to appear at the back door, he wondered how “Magdalen,” which he doubted that was her real name, ended up on that street corner tonight. Why he cared, he did not know. He never questioned the other whores’ motives. Sin leads to more sin. They were all the same; drugs, debts, both. It hardly mattered. At least his prey was plentiful in this city. But this one seemed different.

   As she appeared in the doorway, beckoning him with a finger, he made a mental note for later that she was probably right-handed. Reaching beneath his seat, he grabbed his Kit before obliging the girl’s request. Anticipation alone moved him forward in his weakened state.

   Closing in on her, he inhaled deeply, and she giggled in response. His earlier fears of her suspecting him seemed foolish now. The poor girl remained clueless as to what awaited her in that hotel room. A part of him wanted to warn her; to give her a fighting chance, but she had no chance anyway. There was nothing she could do now. He could not let her escape even if he wanted to. By this point in the game, he had lost all control.

   She was his.

   Amazed that he even got her behind the closed door; he was even more amazed that he did not attack her the moment he heard the lock click into place. Instead, he led her over to the bed. His hands grazed her collarbone, sliding over her body, stopping only momentarily to appreciate the ample flesh of her breasts before wandering down her abdomen to rest at her hips. This girl really was lovely. He longed to taste her mouth. If only he could allow himself to continue down that path, but that was not in the plans for tonight.

   “Forgive me for a moment, m’Dear.” He stood and moved to the bathroom. Locking the door, he took a long look at himself in the mirror. He appeared as though he had already expired days ago and expected himself to turn to dust at any moment. How had he lasted so long this time? Had he ever surpassed this point before? If he could hold out just a little longer, he would not have to destroy the lovely girl in the other room.

   He tried. At this point, he always tried. Pacing the small room, he clenched his fists tightly and bit down firmly on one of the hotel towels in an attempt to fight his body. It was of no use. He could not bear the agonizing burning in his throat and the severe aching of his limbs, especially knowing the end was so near.

   Unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it from his body, he stared at his gaunt frame in the mirror. As he had done many times before, he opened his Kit and spread his tools in front of him.

   In one final effort to fight himself, he paced the room again. Praying for his limbs to give out before he could complete the deed, he grabbed the white cloth and poured the chloroform into its folds. He unlocked the door and stepped from the bathroom to find his conquest de noir smiling at him.

   “I was beginning to get worried,” she said with a look of genuine concern in her eyes.

   He smiled. “You need not worry any more.” Leaning in behind her, he touched her shoulder with as much tenderness as he could muster. As his nose nuzzled into her neck, he could sense her carotid artery just millimeters from his mouth. Feeling her body tense nervously in his arms, his tongue swept over her soft skin. Before he did something irrational, he pressed the damp cloth over her mouth and nose, and held her tight.

   Her desperate struggles began immediately. As he stifled her cries for him to stop, she twisted and writhed in his arms. She kicked and clawed at him, but his grasp stayed firm. His victim lasted longer than he had anticipated, but he should have predicted this one would be a fighter.

   For the smallest moment, he almost allowed himself to release her. Maybe it was his highly weakened state or the building guilt within his gut, but he had never questioned himself before at this juncture. Finally, her body went limp in his arms.

   Scooping her up from the bed, he carried her to the bathtub, where he laid her out, left arm draped over the ledge. His eyes swept over her arms and thighs for evidence of track marks, abuse, or self harm. As he inhaled her scent deeply, he did not even detect the smell of alcohol or nicotine under her strong perfume. Noting a mark on her left cheekbone, he swept his finger over the area to remove the artfully placed flesh-toned makeup and revealed a semi-healed laceration surrounded by a faded bruise. Someone had been rough with her before him. At the thought, he felt an odd emotion twist within his gut that caused him to pause.

   Remembering the task at hand, he shook his head. If he wanted to do this right, he had to stop wasting time. He lit a candle and set it on the floor next to him before taking out his vial of olive oil from his Kit. With his thumb, he anointed her forehead with the oil while whispering. “Per istam sanctam Unctiónem et suam piisimam misericórdiam, indúlge at tibi Dóminus.2”

   When finished, he wiped the oil gently from her forehead with a tissue.  “Sed libera nos a malo.3” He watched the tissue change to ash in the flame of the candle before removing a fresh razor blade from its protective sleeve within his kit. With quick hands, a tourniquet was tied around the girl’s forearm.

   As his razor passed smoothly over her skin, he eagerly watched the blood trickle and then pour out of her delicate wrist.

   “Forgive me,” he whispered.

   He always enjoyed this part the most; the moment of anticipation after the scent of blood filled his nostrils, but before the taste passed his lips. He drew it out as long as he could bear, which, in reality, was less than a single beat of the poor girl’s heart, but felt like hours to his aching body.

   Once his cold lips found their place on her warm flesh, his mouth filled with the sweet life-force that he had been without for far too long. This one tasted especially satisfying. Loosening the tourniquet from her arm, he drank greedily. He could instantly feel a new strength creeping back into his weakened frame as his hand reached over the girl’s unconscious body to feel the beat of her heart as it echoed so loudly in his ears.

 

Lub dub - lub dub - lub dub - lub dub - lub dub - lub dub.

 

   It was the sound of life, which he lacked; a reminder of what he had lost and of what this girl was about to lose. His eyes closed as he let his other senses take over before the guilt of her loss could settle too deeply into his thoughts. Sensing the pace of her breathing quicken as her chest rose and fell beneath his hand, he pulled her unconscious body closer to enjoy its warmth as he continued to feed. As he did so, another sound hit his eardrums.

   It was so soft and feeble, like fluttering of butterfly wings, that at first, he could not fully comprehend it. He opened his eyes and glanced around the small bathroom and out into the bedroom, searching for its source. He was alone with the unfortunate girl, but the sound was unmistakable - a second heartbeat.

   Dear Lord, what have I done? His eyes shot open wide, staring at the girl.

He needed to stop himself before it was too late, but to stop before he was satisfied was something he never had to endure. So sweet. So warm. So refreshing. So perfect. His thirst was finally being quenched. He continued to feast until he sensed the drumming of the two beats quicken.

   They were dying.

   Soon there would no longer be enough blood left to pump, no matter how hard those two beating hearts tried. If he did not stop now, two lives would be lost tonight, one of which he could not justify. If he still had any soul left to protect, this would surely condemn it.

   With that final thought, he managed to pull himself away, but the blood continued to spill from her wrist with each weakened heartbeat. After retying the tourniquet, he reached to the wall for a clean towel. Sinking his teeth into the cloth, he let his saliva cover it before tying it around the oozing laceration and pulling the towel tight until he was content that the blood loss had slowed.

   Standing, he caught his reflection again in the mirror. The sallowness faded from his cheeks, the dark undereye circles had filled in, and his sclera shone bright red with fresh blood. Even his dark hair seemed refreshed.    Disgusted, he wiped his mouth to remove what remained of the girl’s blood from his lips.

   Grabbing his things, he threw them into his Kit with a swift movement and a sudden urge to be free from it all. He intended to walk out of the room and leave the girl for housekeeping to find as he would have done anyway, but he stopped when he saw her purse lying open on the nightstand.

   Like a moth to the candle, he found himself inexplicably drawn toward it. Dumping the belongings onto the bed, he reached for her wallet, only to find it empty except for her ID.

   Mary Ruth Jacobson-Ryan, Warsaw, MO, he read the license and glanced at the photo. She seemed younger and more innocent, and he wondered how much time had passed since it had been taken.

   Magdalen, indeed, he thought as he stared at her photo. She was so young and not far from home. Tossing the ID aside, he also found a can of pepper spray, a swiss army knife, a cell phone with no service, a cell phone charger, two condoms, a few pennies, and a small tin box engraved with her initials. He reached for the tin and pulled it open. Inside, he found a black silk cloth. After unwrapping it slowly, he suddenly revoked his hands as if burned as he realized what lay within. The tarot cards spilled across the bed.

   “Damn witch!” He hissed and spat at the cards as a flood of relief rushed over him. This girl had no innocence. Her soul was as condemned as his. The unborn child was already tainted, probably conceived illegitimately in some sort of cursed ritual or satanic rite. He laughed as his situation became clear. This was why she had been his chosen one tonight and why death awaited her now. His regrets melted away as he laughed.

   He then noted something else about the tin box, and his uneasy feeling returned. He tilted his head to get a better   look and reached for the black and white photo secured to the lid. He could not understand the hazy image, but had a feeling it must be important, considering its placement inside the box. Pulling it free, he examined it closer.    He wondered about the odd assortment of numbers within the corner and the arrows pointing at certain areas within the haze. There was something strangely familiar about the image, as if he should recognize it, as though he had once known yet had long forgotten, but he still could not make sense of it.

   A loud commotion followed by a scream coming from the bathroom interrupted his thoughts.

   “What the hell... what the hell...oh my god...oh my god...” the voice cried, full of distress.

   Running into the bathroom, he found the girl cowering in the corner of the bathtub as she struggled with the towel around her wrist. The tourniquet already lay on the floor in two pieces.

   “Shhh, Shhh,” he heard himself whisper. To his own surprise, he approached her slowly. “Try to calm yourself.” He reached out to her.

   She drew back, but had nowhere to go as her back pressed into the wall. Her eyes stared wide and unblinking, and she visibly trembled. “D...D...Don’t touch me.”

   Noting her extreme pallor, he took a step back to give her some space. “You are very weak. You should probably sit down.”

   She continued to work at the towel on her wrist until it joined the tourniquet on the floor. Cringing, he looked away, expecting the scent of her blood to fill the air once again, but it never came.

   Turning back, he found the girl probing the raised red flesh that was now a freshly-healed scar across her wrist. No blood came. His potent saliva had worked faster than he had anticipated.

   “What the fuck?” Hyperventilating, she looked around the room wildly until her eyes became distant and glassy.

He knew that look. “Forgive me, m’Dear.” He scooped her up at the same moment that her legs gave out. Cradling her limp form, he moved her from the bathroom to the bed, before sitting on the floor next to her.

   “Forgive me...forgive me...” Hearing the two heartbeats echoing against his eardrums again, he buried his face in his hands and pulled at his hair.

   Placing his hands over his ears, he whispered, “Confíteor Deo omnipoténti et vobis, fratres, quia peccávi nimis cogitatióne, verbo, ópere et omissióne...” He pounded his chest three times as he finished. “Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa.4”

   “Oh, Dear Lord,” the girl whispered above him. “You’re crazy... wonderful.”

   “I am afraid it is much worse than that,” he said, surprised that she was even alert.

   “Worse than using me for your evil satanic voodoo?”

   He supposed this all must appear very satanic and evil from her point of view. Still, the irony that he had just been thinking similar thoughts about her brought a slight smile to his lips. “Yes.”

   “What then?” she said.

   “I planned to kill you.”

   “So why didn’t you?” Her sarcasm faded.

   “It is a long story... Now, let us get you out of here before I change my mind.” Standing to look down on her, he swiped her things from the bed and back into her purse, leaving the tarot cards behind. Too weak to protest, she allowed him to assist her out the door.

 

 

1 Hail Mary, full of grace. Our Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

 

2 By this holy unction and his own most gracious mercy, may the Lord pardon you whatever sin you have committed

 

3 But deliver us from evil

 

4 I confess to almighty God and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have greatly sinned, in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done and in what I have failed to do, through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault