《Sustentation: An Exsanguinate Novela》


 Chapter 1 – Wesley – Ground Rules

    Pulling into the driveway I''m not sure I''m in the right home, or even neighborhood. Half the homes look like small cheap places but a few blocks away there are huge homes with pools. This one is the largest for at least three blocks, but looks to be neglected. The grass is almost to my knees despite the rest of the neatly manicured yards on the block. There¡¯re a few pieces of siding starting to sag away from the house. Those will need to be fixed before winter comes. It might even need some insulation.


    I knew the house would be in bad shape when I agreed to move in here, but the rent was so cheap. All I have to pay is $100, do the yard work, clean and make repairs around the house. To be honest, it looks better than I thought it would. My dad was a handyman so I was forced to follow him on jobs for most of my life. Making small repairs should be no issue. As long as the roof doesn''t leak, and the basement doesn''t flood. I shouldn''t have any problems.


    I make my way through the overgrowth up the stairs to the porch and reach the front door. Before I can knock on the door, it opens. A thin man with a naturally tan skin and reddish nappy afro opened the door wearing nothing but boxer briefs. He''s thin but there''s no real muscle definition, the love handles and puffy nipples means he doesn''t work out much. I could take him in a fight if things go south, clearly this man is not stable. His arms are heavily tattooed while his torso is bare with the exception of some that make it appear his skin has been peeled back. His sleepy red eyes tell me he''s either just woken up or he''s just gotten high. Right beneath those eyes is his most distinct tattoo, in red letters, "vampire," is written in all caps with the letters ¡°ire,¡± in extra thick font.


    "You Wesley," he asks.


    "Yeah."


    "I thought you''d be a white boy."


    "Well I didn''t think you''d be one," I joke, but he doesn''t seem to laugh.


    "Because my name is Kareem," he asks bluntly.


    "Yeah," I''m somewhat ashamed as I answer.


    "Well I''m not. Don''t forget it."


    "Sorry."


    "Do you want to bring your stuff in or just keep looking over me?"


    I expected Kareem to help me bring my stuff in, but he just went back to watching whatever movie he was before I came in. Once everything was inside he finally paused the movie to talk with me. I thought he''d want to get to know me, as roommates usually do. Instead he just wanted to lay some ground rules.


    "You know you''ve got the yard work and repairs right?"


    "Yes," I almost feel like I''m talking to an old man.


    "If it''s something you can''t do, tell me. I''ll hire someone to do it. I don''t want you screwing things up because you got ahead of yourself," as if his home was in great standing already.


    "I should be able to handle most of it. Doesn''t look too bad."


    "Whatever. Next rule, there''s wine in the kitchen. Don''t drink it. That isn''t for you. You can have whatever else you want, never that."


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    "You make it sound deadly."


    "It isn''t, but you''ll wish yo were dead if I find out."


    "You''re a funny guy," I try to force a laugh.


    "How am I funny?"


    "What?"


    "I''m just trying to see how I''m funny."


    "I just think you''re funny."


    "You mean, let me understand this cause, you know, maybe it''s me. I''m a little fucked up maybe, but I''m funny how? I mean funny like a clown, I amuse you? I make you laugh, I''m here to fucking amuse you? What do you mean funny? Fnny how? How am I so funny," he stands up and starts to pace back and forth.


    "I was just saying that the way you speak it''s sarcastic and-"


    "Sarcastic and what? You said I''m funny. How the fuck am I funny? What the fuck is so funny about me? Tell me, tell me what''s funny."


    "I''m sorry, you''re not funny. I''ll go," I stand up. "I didn''t mean to offend."


    "Sit down you idiot," he easily pushes me back onto the sofa.


    "What?"


    "When you watchGoodfellasthat''ll be your favorite scene. I thought you said you liked movies?"


    "Doesn''t everyone like movies? That''s just not my favorite genre"


    "Whatever. Key is on the coffee table. Pick any room upstairs you want."


    "Where do you stay?"


    "Basement."


    Before I could reply, he had already pressed play on his movie, sat down and put his feet up on the coffee table. I could keep trying and failing to have friendly conversations with him, but I figure the whole thing would be pointless. He didn''t seem interested in anything but movies and trying to scare me. I wonder what his deal is.


    He really might be crazy. The tattoos should have told me he was out of his mind. The only people with face tats are famous rappers, criminals and people who gave up on life a long time ago. I''ve never seen any rapper like him before and if he was a criminal he might be able to pay someone else to fix his house. That leaves a person who gave up on life a long time ago which makes sense. I don''t smell any marijuana, but he has to have been using it.


    I settle on the master bedroom upstairs. It already has curtains, even if they''re tacky floral prints, they''ll work. It also has an attached bathroom. None of the other rooms were small, but this one is by far the biggest. It isn''t messy, just dusty. The entire second floor is dusty, even the other bathroom looks untouched. I''ll need to get some furniture. There''s a bed in each room, but nothing else. No dresser, no nightstand, and even the beds are haphazardly thrown into each room. Why is he living like this?


    "Hey, I thought of another rule," Kareem scares me.


    "I didn''t hear you come in."


    "Yeah, I''m just a quiet guy."


    "What''s the other rule."


    "Never go in the basement. Even if I invite you."


    "Are you running your ownSawgame in the basement?"


    "Want to see," for some reason it almost sounds threatening.


    "No, I''m good."


    "You catch on quick."


    "Always been a fast learner."


    "Anything you want to know?"


    "Is there a church around here?"


    "Do I look like I would know where to find a church?"


    "No, I guess you''d probably burst into flames if you walked into one."


    "Now look who¡¯s being funny,¡± I don¡¯t get a chance to respond before he¡¯s gone.


    I honestly don¡¯t know if this is going to work out. Kareem just gives me a bad vibe. Some people aren¡¯t very extroverted but it feels like he¡¯s going the extra mile just to make sure I don¡¯t talk to him more than a few minutes at a time. Still he¡¯s the one who starts all the conversations; maybe so he can cut them short. Earlier he made a joke quoting the movie scene I¡¯ve never seen before. But even then, he really worked hard to intimidate me. I felt like he might really attack me, I don¡¯t think I¡¯d ever been so afraid of another person. Then he just goes back as if nothing happened. If I could examine his body, I¡¯m sure his tattoos would be odd or filled with threatening designs.


    Maybe he¡¯ll just keep to himself and watch movies or stay in the basement. I¡¯ll be at school most of the time and once the semester is over I can move out. It¡¯s too late to find somewhere else to stay. I just have to keep telling myself that God wouldn¡¯t put me through anything that I couldn¡¯t handle. Kareem isn¡¯t an obstacle to overcome but a person that God placed in front of me to teach me a lesson, or perhaps I¡¯m here to teach him a lesson.


    I wonder if he would be willing to go to Goodwill with me. I could grab some furniture and he¡¯d be help getting everything in the car. Maybe he knows somewhere else I can get some stuff, I¡¯m not from around here so it¡¯ll be good to have the extra set of eyes. I can make this work, I just need to stay positive.

 Chapter 2 - Wesley - Bedtime Prayers

    It is important that educators have some basic grasp of psychology. It can assist in the understanding of different learning characteristics between children, adolescents and adults. Individual differences and disabilities also play a large role in the classroom. I honestly can¡¯t believe professors are giving homework during the first week of classes. We haven¡¯t truly adjusted to our schedules yet and here we are, two chapters deep in the textbook with an online quiz due Sunday. Psychology courses always seemed to bore me. It should be really interesting stuff, and maybe it will be helpful when I¡¯m a teacher, but so much of the material feels to be unclearly wordy or difficult as if by design.


    I need a break, for my own sanity. I grab a small bag of Doritos from the cabinet. Cool ranch has always been my favorite. I think I loved them as a kid because they looked like little beige Christmas trees. All the red and green looking like lights. Kareem didn¡¯t have any snacks or any real food here before I came. He wasn¡¯t picky about what I chose to buy but he also doesn¡¯t seem to eat much food at all. In fact, I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve seen him do anything other than watch movies in the few days I¡¯ve been here. As far as I can tell he doesn¡¯t work, and he isn¡¯t exactly rich either. I don¡¯t know anything about him other than his tattoos at this point.


    I¡¯ve noticed he changes underwear and socks each day, but I never saw him put on clothes until this evening. He put on actual clothes and even cologne before he left. I asked where he was going but he didn¡¯t do anything but grunt at me. If it wasn¡¯t for his constant film watching I¡¯d be sure I lived with an animal. Kareem just has no intentions of ever socializing with me I¡¯m just another person in the house, when he actually acknowledges I exist. I offered to cook him dinner last night, but he only ate a single piece of chicken after I went to bed and didn¡¯t mention it when I saw him today. I¡¯m really wondering where he went tonight. I can¡¯t see him going out and having a good time anywhere or meeting with friends. He doesn¡¯t seem to be the friendliest person. I¡¯ve got so many questions for him, and I know he¡¯d just give me that cold vacant stare if I were to ask. I just wish I could force him into a game of 21 questions. Where are you from, what¡¯s your favorite color, why do you love movies so much, did you ever go to church, what¡¯s your favorite sport?


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you in bed schoolboy,¡± a voice startles me.


    I drop my bag of Doritos in a panic before realizing the voice belonged to Kareem. He managed to catch the bag before it hit the floor. Eating a single chip before handing the bag back to me. Kareem¡¯s shirt is ripped and there¡¯s some kind of red liquid splattered across his entire body. It blends well into his black shoes and jeans; it¡¯s most obvious on the white shirt and jacket he has on. I take the bag of Doritos but can¡¯t seem to pull my eyes away from his.


    ¡°Past your bedtime,¡± he reminds me again.


    ¡°I can stay up late if I want to.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but things get really scary at night. Especially for normal people.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean normal?¡±


    ¡°Just, normal. You¡¯re not exceptional.¡±


    ¡°Oh, well thank you.¡±


    ¡°Just trying to give you my best Joe Clark impression. Have to keep the kids in school.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure we¡¯re the same age.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but I am the HNIC,¡± he smiles when I laugh.


    The face tattoo is really unappealing, as are the neck tattoos. When he smiles, it¡¯s almost adorable. He smiles like a kid that hasn¡¯t figured out all of their facial muscles yet. I¡¯m pretty sure he wanted to show his teeth as he smiled, but his lip got caught on those same teeth and he chose not to. Still, it is a nice smile, one that could light up a roam. Instead, he sits in the dark, bottom lip poked out in a perpetual frown. I smile back, and he instantly stops smiling as if I were making fun of him.


    ¡°Why the fuck are you smiling,¡± he asks.


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    ¡°I thought we were just having a nice moment.¡±


    ¡°Speaking to you is a moment? Is your life that pathetic?¡±


    ¡°No. I just want to know about you if we¡¯re going to be roommates.¡±


    ¡°Then ask away.¡±


    ¡°Where are you from?¡±


    ¡°Here, Terre Haute.¡±


    ¡°How old are you?¡±


    ¡°twenty-seven.¡±


    ¡°Woah, you look nineteen at the most.¡±


    ¡°Is that it?¡±


    ¡°Where did you go tonight,¡± the question I¡¯m most curious about.


    ¡°I went to a rave.¡±


    ¡°Is that where all the red spots came from, and how you ripped your shirt?¡±


    For the first time he seems to be aware of his appearance. Glancing down at his clothing he pokes his fingers through the holes in his shirt before moving and examining each piece of red on his jacket. For a moment he stops and stares at his hands, unsure if they have the same red on them, only letting out a quick sigh when he realizes they do. He removes his jacket and runs the inside of it across his face and hands, attempting to clear it away from himself but only manages to smear it across his face. He does all of this as if I¡¯m not standing here waiting for him to finish the conversation. Feeling unsatisfied he opens the door to the basement to leave again without speaking.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°Why do you care?¡±


    ¡°Because we both live here together now. If something is affecting you, then it will eventually have an effect on me.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re just caring about yourself. Thanks, but I don¡¯t need it.¡±


    ¡°Cary each other¡¯s burdens, and in this way, you will fulfill the law of Christ.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Galatians, chapter 6, verse 2. When you read The Bible, that¡¯ll be your favorite chapter and verse.¡±


    ¡°No, it won¡¯t. I¡¯m not going to read The Bible, The Quran, or any other holy book you throw at me. None of them will solve my problems.¡±


    ¡°I might be able to, if you just told me what¡¯s wrong.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t. Make sure you cut the lawn tomorrow. It looks disgusting.¡±


    ¡°Do we have a lawnmower.¡±


    ¡°Check the shed, if not find a crackhead. I¡¯ll pay you back whatever they charge.¡±


    ¡°Anything else you want done tomorrow?¡±


    ¡°You could stop speaking to me.¡±


    ¡°I thought we were becoming friends.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need friends.¡±


    ¡°Then why did you get a roommate and make the rent so cheap?¡±


    ¡°You think you got it all figured out don¡¯t you. You probably love quoting Bible verses at people. All your Bible thumping and prayers didn¡¯t get you anywhere.¡±


    With those words Kareem vanishes into the darkness of the stairwell as the door closes behind him. I try to peak into this mysterious basement that is off limits, but I can¡¯t see anything but darkness down there. I stare at the door after he¡¯s gone, waiting for some kind of sound, maybe for him to reemerge, but there¡¯s nothing. If it weren¡¯t for the sound of me chewing Doritos, there would be absolute silence.


    I wonder if Kareem is on drugs. I¡¯ve worked with people who are recovering or still using drugs. When we spoke, he seemed joyful, and even smiled. Then he had a mood swing that took him to the extreme opposite end of the spectrum. Mood swings aren¡¯t uncommon for drug addicts. Then there¡¯s the sitting around in his boxers all day doing nothing but watching movies with no reaction. Drugs aren¡¯t something I can rule out. I know he says this isn¡¯t my business but he needs help. It¡¯s my duty to help carry his burdens so that he doesn¡¯t stumble and fall. I don¡¯t know much about detoxing, but I can help him find a rehabilitation center for sure. The student resource center may have something. I¡¯ll stop by and ask some questions tomorrow. For now, there¡¯s only one thing I can do for him, pray.


    ¡°Heavenly father, thank you for surrounding us today with your blessings, I¡¯m standing here for Kareem, asking for your grace, even if he doesn¡¯t know it. In the name of Jesus Christ, I pray that you rebuke every spirit of rage, and addiction that flows through his body. Amen.¡±

 Chapter 3 - Kareem - Art of Love

    Anton Chigur is a figment of Sheriff Bell¡¯s imagination. As the credits roll, I can¡¯t help but believe that was a theory someone just made up because they were bored. Sure, there¡¯s proof, but it isn¡¯t so much proof that it can¡¯t be denied. There really isn¡¯t a reason to make the film any more than it already is. Sometimes, a good film is just a good film. If there is any real meaning to the story it is that violence is going to come no matter what and there is no real justice. Being a good person doesn¡¯t mean you get to have an easy life and being bad doesn¡¯t mean you lose. None of the theories add or subtract from the real message of the film.


    The smell of cheap cologne fills my head and I pick up the sounds of timid shuffling feet. That means Wesley is here. The hardest part of adjusting to a new roommate for me is that I hear and smell everything. That¡¯s why The Orc had to go. There¡¯s probably some old school Orc stronghold in the woods somewhere he could live in, but if you¡¯re living in a city, then you need to bathe. The cheap cologne is a pain but at least he doesn¡¯t wear a lot of it and he doesn¡¯t smell like garbage. That¡¯s a plus.


    I need to go out tonight, I haven¡¯t fed in almost two weeks. I¡¯ve been surviving on blood treats, but I¡¯m low on those and it won¡¯t work forever. I¡¯ll just hit a night club tonight, that¡¯ll be the easiest way to deal with it tonight.


    Blood, blood, blood, why are all of my nice clothes covered in blood? I can¡¯t make Wesley wash clothes. He¡¯d be suspicious about the blood. That lie two weeks ago about the rave was stupid. I should have said I was at an animal rights protest or something, but I didn¡¯t expect him to ask and I couldn¡¯t think fast enough. None of my previous roommates have been so nosey, then here he comes rattling off forty-seven questions every time I see him. He¡¯s got cheap rent and a place to stay, all he has to do is some basic cleaning. The ad said repairs, but there¡¯s not even a lot of repairs to do. I honestly don¡¯t need to keep him around. He can be disposed of. The only reason I take roommates is for the housekeeping, and I can find another person taking the same deal.


    I settle on a pair of black high top air forces, some olive cargo pants and a black long sleeve shirt. Simple, but with a silver chain and a few rings, it¡¯s enough to get me in any club around here. I stand out but not enough that I look like a potential problem. It¡¯s good enough that people will remember seeing me, but I can vanish without being traced as well. I make sure to grab a towel for later and I¡¯m good to go.


    ¡°Where are you going,¡± Wesley asks as I exit the basement into the kitchen.


    ¡°Out.¡±


    ¡°Where to?¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter.¡±


    ¡°Want some company.¡±


    ¡°Nope.¡±


    ¡°Want to eat first? I¡¯m making burgers,¡± here come all his questions.


    ¡°Pass.¡±


    ¡°How about we watch a movie together?¡±


    ¡°Just told you I was going out.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t have to be tonight.¡±


    ¡°Then ask me later.¡±


    ¡°It wouldn¡¯t kill you to let a little kindness into your heart.¡±


    ¡°It might, you don¡¯t know that.¡±


    ¡°Do you have a witty comeback for everything?¡±


    ¡°Nope,¡± I grab my keys from the counter and head towards the front door.


    ¡°Have a good night¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you too.¡±


    Nobody ever looks twice at an old Ford Taurus. It''s not an exceptionally nice or uncommon car. Again, it¡¯s a car chosen for function, not design. I¡¯m not smart, but I know how to go unnoticed and how to survive. That¡¯s why I don¡¯t mind driving around until I find the right club for tonight. Sanity has too many people to move around effectively. Ragdoll is almost empty, just showing my face there will make sure people remember me. But Club Cobalt, is just right. Enough people that nobody will notice a few missing and small enough that one or two people can remember seeing me. I park three blocks away and walk to the door. A good way to avoid the ridiculous price of parking and if things go bad, a little vampiric speed and nobody knows where I went.


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    I¡¯m only half vampire, I get most of the strengths, and none of the weaknesses. I¡¯m not as strong as a pure blood vampire, but most people wouldn¡¯t match up. Not as fast, but I can move faster than most people can see for a few minutes before I¡¯m tired. I don¡¯t heal as fast, but it takes a lot to hurt me. I¡¯m a night person, but sunlight doesn¡¯t bother me. I also don¡¯t need to feed on blood as much, I can get by on edible blood snacks, regular food and stored blood for about two weeks before I need fresh blood. I wish I was this was the movie Blade sometimes. I don¡¯t really have any reason to hunt other vampires, but I¡¯d love to just take a serum every now and then so I didn¡¯t have to hunt. Sadly, that¡¯s not the world I live in, so I do what I have to.


    I hate clubs, the music is way too loud for normal people, but with my hearing, it can be disoriented. I¡¯m not wasting any more time here than I need to. I order a Jack and coke at the bar; it¡¯ll make it seem as if I¡¯ve been here for a while as I move through the crowd. I know what I¡¯m looking for. A woman, not necessarily alone, but bored with being here. If she¡¯s annoyed, she¡¯ll be hard to talk to and not responsive to me. If she¡¯s bored, she¡¯ll just be excited that someone is paying her attention. It doesn''t take long for me to find someone. She''s sitting alone at a table, but there are multiple drinks meaning her friends are probably out dancing and she''s in charge of watching the purses and drinks. She isn''t doing that, instead she''s scrolling through her phone, probably looking at social media. Her face isn''t ugly, but she''s not Angela Bassett either. She''s a little thinner than the women I normally go after, but I can live with it.


    "You busy," I initiate the conversation.


    "No."


    "Would you mind if I sat here."


    "Yes, these are my friends'' seats."


    "Then would you mind if I stood here while we talked?"


    "I don''t feel like talking."


    "Alright."


    I don''t bother continuing the conversation. I''m not going to harass her for her blood, there''s other women here tonight. Rejecting me saved her life, so I can''t be mad at her. I''ll just move on and try someone else. But the options are slim tonight. Most people are here in groups, but there are more men than women. I hate that. When there''s more men than women, fights tend to break out over the women available. I don''t like fighting. Before I can find my next potential a fight breaks out. I knew this was bound to happen. The music stops and lights come up as security intervenes, but the night is over for me. Everyone will be too on edge with adrenaline for me to take anyone home now. A few others make their way outside the club at the same time as I do. I hang around for a moment and watch as the fight participants are brought outside.


    More people follow, each seems to have assembled their own group of friends. Almost as if on cue someone fires a gun into the air and people scatter throughout the parking lot. For a moment I contemplate just snatching someone in the chaos, but that''s never been my style. I help a woman to her feet as she falls in the chaos. It doesn''t absolve what I''m going to do later tonight, but it makes me feel a little better. I hear the sirens in the distance before anyone else does.


    The entire area is going to be on high alert tonight. I''ll need to postpone my feeding for another day. Anything I do around here will cause too much attention and by the time I get to the other side of the city it''ll be too late to do anything else. I might go on the rare morning hunt tomorrow.

 Chapter 4 - Kareem - Street Walker

    Prostitution is the world¡¯s oldest career. We¡¯ve put men on the moon, built a space station, got phones that are basically small computers and technology still continues to move forward way quicker than anything else. We''ve got automated car washes, grocery stores, fast food and even surgeries. But through it all, you can¡¯t replace a prostitute.


    Sure, there¡¯s plenty of people willing to have sex with anyone, but you have to put in work. Plan a date, get to know the other person, but a prostitute, not so much. You play by their rules and you¡¯ll have a good time. It might not be the best sex you ever have, and it might be a little dirty, but you¡¯ll get off, and that¡¯s what you¡¯re after. Then again, there¡¯s different levels. I¡¯m sure a $40 prostitute on a street corner is a lot different than $1000 at some brothel. They¡¯re judged for being sex workers, but they provide a valuable service to the communities they serve. The people that hire prostitutes are lonely, they aren¡¯t all looking for sex. I saw a documentary about a woman who gets paid just to cuddle or hold hands with people, and another about a man who just has dinner with others. Loneliness probably kills more people than anything else, the silent killer. They should do a study on that. Sex is just a way for some people to feel as if they aren¡¯t lonely. My first time was with a prostitute. I did a job, and for the first time ever I had some money in my pocket, but I didn''t have anyone to spend it with. She offered me a good time; I didn¡¯t know she meant sex. We got dinner; she took me to a tattoo shop and then we had sex. Sex for the first time was really enjoyable, but I was just glad to have someone to talk to. Her name was Jackie, but she pronounced it the same way they did on 227. I wonder what happened to her, I hope she¡¯s doing well.


    Tonight, I¡¯m not lonely, I¡¯m hungry. One of these women is going to be my dinner, but I don¡¯t know which one. I hate feeding on prostitutes. Most of them have lives beyond prostitution. I¡¯ve learned that some people do it because they love it, some do it for the money and others do it because they don¡¯t see any other choices. I think that¡¯s messed up. I don¡¯t think sex work is bad or disgraceful, but the world does. It takes a lot to beat someone down so bad they see a job they hate and look down on as the only option. I think it¡¯s wrong for anyone to feel that way, and those are still the people I prey on. They don¡¯t question me and are willing to go along with whatever I want them to do. I¡¯m sick, I wish I didn¡¯t have to do this, but I don¡¯t have a choice.


    I¡¯m a Dhampir, only a half vampire. I don¡¯t get to make thralls that just come feed me like Primeval vamps. I can¡¯t fly like Talamaur, or heal near as fast as Nachzeher, and I don¡¯t have the true immortality of Adze. Those are the big four and they¡¯ve all got their little special features. I still get sunny days like today, I don¡¯t have to feed nearly as often and if I ever decide I want kids, it¡¯s as simple as insert rod into slot.


    ¡°Yo,¡± I say quietly out my car window to draw the attention of a blonde woman.


    I can smell her; she doesn¡¯t clean between customers. Her extensions are somewhat ragged, but she doesn¡¯t look to be abused by a pimp or anyone else. She¡¯s got all the signs of the kind of person I¡¯m looking for.


    ¡°Hey honey what¡¯s going on.¡±


    ¡°Just seeing what you¡¯re trying to get into.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a little young aren¡¯t you,¡± she smiles, good teeth, no drugs.


    ¡°I just look young, you want to see some ID?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take your word for it handsome.¡±


    ¡°So you trying to get out of here.¡±


    ¡°Where to?¡±


    ¡°Warehouse, right off the avenue.¡±


    ¡°Where the old factory used to be?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s the one. You know it?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I know the spot.¡±


    ¡°Cool.¡±


    ¡°What are you trying to do?¡±


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    ¡°A little this, and a little that.¡±


    ¡°You got any cash.¡±


    ¡°I got money,¡± I flash a bankroll of cash.


    ¡°I¡¯ll meet you over there,¡± she says.


    I park in the shade, under an awning where semi-trucks would have unloaded. Nobody can really see the car but she finds it right away. I suppose I¡¯m not the first person to bring her around here. She gets in the car and asks what¡¯s the plan. I press the button to lean my seat back, and unbutton my pants. She¡¯s not rookie, she knows what I want.


    Her mouth is dry, but her technique is good. It doesn¡¯t take long for my blood to flow south. She takes her head as far down as she can go. I stroke her hair as she continues to work. Part of me is ashamed of what I¡¯m going to do to her this afternoon. That¡¯s the human part of me, killing is wrong unless it¡¯s in self-defense. I know that. The vampire part of me knows different, killing is part of survival. It¡¯s just like killing and eating a deer. It feels different because the deer has a face like my own.


    She works harder, adding hands to the equation. My attention comes back to her, and the current moment. I always have a problem keeping it up when I¡¯m going to kill her. I¡¯ve never been able to finish in these situations. I¡¯m not a serial killer who gets off on the kill. She¡¯s annoyed, some women have really pulled out all the tricks.


    ¡°Hey,¡± I put my hand under her chin and lift her. ¡°It¡¯s cool, don¡¯t worry about it.¡±


    ¡°You a queer? Just testing the waters? You¡¯re too young to be struggling to keep it hard. Should be solid like a steel beam.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, I know,¡± she uses a napkin from above the visor to clean my up. ¡°Hey, how much do I owe you?¡±


    ¡°$40 and we¡¯ll call it even.¡±


    ¡°Here¡¯s $60,¡± I hand her three twenties.


    ¡°Thanks, you mind giving me a ride back.¡±


    ¡°Nah, it¡¯s not a problem. I¡¯m sure you got family to get back too.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just me and my dog,¡± I guess that¡¯s one less thing to feel bad about.


    I move my seat back to normal and star the car before fiddling with the radio station to stall for time. This is the part I always feel bad about. I mumble an apology under my breath which leaves her confused. Before she can ask what I said I¡¯ve already covered her mouth and snapped her neck. At least it was quick, and she didn¡¯t see it coming. I don¡¯t have time to mourn before the blood goes bad. I take off my shirt and pants. I¡¯ve always been a sloppy drinker, just something I don¡¯t have control of. My mouth could never form that vacuum like seal other vampires do. Another sign that I¡¯m defective. I don¡¯t always undress, but I have somewhere to be this evening. I rip her leggings and bite into her thigh. The femoral artery is my favorite place to feed from, the blood is always the warmest. The smell of semen, fills my nose as I feed and I remember she wasn¡¯t the cleanest of prostitutes. A neck probably would have been better in this case, but I was just eager for the whole thing to be over with.


    The world around me slowly becomes quieter, the smells aren¡¯t as strong and the sunlight isn¡¯t as bright. My senses aren¡¯t dulled by taking in blood, but they¡¯re fine-tuned. I can still hear, smell, see and sense everything I could before, but now I have control. I¡¯ve finally had my fill, and her body is turning pale from the blood loss.


    Usually, I¡¯d get rid of the body, but I don¡¯t have time. For now, I¡¯ll put her in the trunk and then drop her off in my shed for storage. Not the best idea to store murder victims in your house, but it won¡¯t be for long. I drop her onto the sheets in my trunk and wrap her up tight before cleaning the spilled blood from my passenger seat. Finally, I put my clothes back on and leave as if nothing happened. I don¡¯t have a name for her; I didn¡¯t want one. I just have a face for her, and now it¡¯ll be forever burned into my memory like so many before her.

 Chapter 5 - Kareem - Film Class

    Professor Tiana Hicks, divorced, no children. Drives a 2015 Impala and lives alone. She¡¯s been teaching here for seven years; teaches remedial algebra, introductory theater and film study. I started coming to this class because I was stalking her. She was going to be a victim; back when I was breaking in homes instead of just luring women to me with sex. She was saved because I found her film class really interesting. I stopped following her and started coming to class instead. She brought in so many different films to watch from all over the world. Films with so many different places I could never go, languages I could never learn, people I could never be and tragic stories that weren¡¯t my own. That¡¯s where my love of movies came from; I¡¯m forever grateful of her because of that.


    I¡¯ll never tell her, but I¡¯ll always show up to class and even participate when discussion is quiet. I¡¯m not a student here, but she doesn¡¯t check attendance. All of the homework and tests are online, so I don¡¯t have to turn those in either. In a class of 128 people I¡¯m free to just drift in and out as I please without anyone bothering me. Some people have TV shows they never miss, I have this class. Before coming here, I had never realized that people could have such different ideas on the meaning or even endings of film. I know people are all different, but I didn¡¯t know, don¡¯t know, a lot of other people. The people I do know don¡¯t discuss personal hobbies or interest. My conversations are no different than paying for gas or buying groceries. I have the syllabus, I could just see what movies she picked out for the semester, but I come, I take notes. I re-watch the films at home if someone says something that catches my attention. I didn¡¯t even finish grade school and now I¡¯m happy to go to a college class twice a week for two hours at a time.


    Tonight, we¡¯re watching and discussing Spike Lee¡¯s Da Sweet Blood of Jesus. I¡¯ve already seen it, and I don¡¯t hate it. The film is a remake of Ganja & Hess, one of my favorite films of all time. I really hope we watch the original version, the Bill Gunn cut, not any of the theatrical versions they put out. Hess is turned into a vampire and survives by murdering prostitutes for their blood. The first time I saw the film, I hated it, but that¡¯s where I got the idea to go after prostitutes and women at clubs. By the time anyone asked questions, it would be too late. Ganja comes to find her husband, and he¡¯s dead, stuffed in the freezer. She still falls in love, kind of. Then she becomes a vampire too. He teaches her how to survive and then things go wrong as they tend to.


    Everyone understands that the film is about addiction. Every interview and review has repeated the thought over and over again. But, I¡¯m a vampire, a Black vampire, I just view the film differently. I understand the alienation Hess faces from the very start. He¡¯s rich, smart and at the top of his career. Still, his white coworkers hate him and he can¡¯t seem to find anything in common with them during the party he throws. No matter what he does, he can never find a place to really be accepted.


    It¡¯s funny really; people always pick up on the addiction but not the way they become addicted. Hess is stabbed, forced into addiction by someone who dies right after. It¡¯s like, an addict forces you to partake and then they overdose. He¡¯s addicted, lost in the world, no guidance, no way to get free. The church kills his addiction, but at the cost of himself.


    Then there¡¯s Ganja, she jumped right at the addiction. She had so many chances to run, but she kept chasing it. She could have, should have ran when she found her husband dead. Instead she became obsessed with it. She seemed like she cared about Hess, but she never did. She cared about the lifestyle first. He was rich, had the life her husband promised her. She didn¡¯t care that he was out hunting or left him alone in the mansion. It was what she wanted. She didn¡¯t care that he worked for all of that, she only saw the addiction. If he could be successful with the addiction, it would make her successful as well. Hess even tried to warn her at one point, she didn¡¯t care. His warnings meant nothing. It was like watching Joe Clark tell Sams to jump and kill himself, but instead of promising to stay clean, he jumped. She didn¡¯t just jump, she dove in head first, throwing away her past life for a chance at this. She killed her past, the same as Hess did; she just never cared to get it back. That¡¯s what addiction does to people; they lose parts of themselves or willingly throw them away.


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    The same can be said for vampirism, I guess. You either turn, and have to change everything you know or you willingly throw it all away to turn. I never had a life to throw away or be taken away. I was born like this, always an addict with no way to cure myself. Always dependent on blood, fresh blood. There¡¯s no other way for me to live and I was never given the option. Am I a bad person if Ganja pisses me off?


    She never noticed that Hess was in pain. She never noticed that he was a social outcast, looking for connections but could never seem to find them. She never missed her husband, but he never had a wife to miss. Then when she did marry him, she still didn¡¯t care about what he was going through. He was struggling trying to remove his ties to the church. Hess knew the church would kill what he had become, but there was nothing to go back to. He was visibly struggling with his own existence and she brushed it off for some new clothes and a big house. The life she loved so much, that she chose, wasn¡¯t chosen for him. He sat there dying and she seemed emotionless, almost as if she felt he was stupid. She didn¡¯t even mourn his death. He was suffering through trauma placed on his shoulders. He wasn¡¯t suffering in silence, but everybody ignored his screams. He kept calling out for help and nobody ever came.


    I was the same way. I used to scream until my throat burned and my chest hurt. Nobody would ever come to help me. I¡¯d be punished instead, more pain. I didn¡¯t even know the words to explain what I was dealing with and I was being punished. I just wanted to live and I couldn¡¯t even figure out how. Sometimes I wonder if Hess had the right idea when he just decided to kill himself. There was no way for him to help himself and nobody was willing to help him. It makes sense, to end the pain when there¡¯s no solution in sight.


    It¡¯s a film about addiction, but also about if you can accept yourself. Hess couldn¡¯t accept himself, he went from being a top archeologist to hiring prostitutes to murder them. Ganja accepted herself, and even if I don¡¯t like the way she did it, I made the same choice. When I got a chance to be free, I didn¡¯t look back. I don¡¯t live the rich and fancy life that Ganja did at the end of the film.


    ¡°Vampires, they aren¡¯t real,¡± Professor Hicks begins to wrap up the class. ¡°Still, vampires find themselves in our cultures over and over again. Not just Dracula or Nosferatu, but legends dating back to ancient Greece or Mesopotamia. Yes, these stories are used to produce fear and enjoyment. But, I believe vampirism can be used as a stand in for the ills of our society. In this film, addiction is the issue being tackled. But, who is to say that the next modern vampire masterpiece won¡¯t use vampirism as a stand in for capitalism and our need to constantly consume the latest and greatest product? Next week we¡¯ll be watching a version of Death of a Salesman. I want you to think about what success means to you over the weekend. I¡¯ll see you Tuesday and remember, watch for vampires. Not just the real, but the metaphorical in your life,¡± I love the way she speaks.

 Chapter 6 - Wesley - Body Exhibit

    I came into this shed to cut grass. The body was already here. I didn¡¯t touch anything. My fingerprints aren¡¯t on that body, my DNA isn¡¯t anywhere beyond the door. No, I touched the body. I turned it over to see if it was real. Does that make me an accessory to murder? Did Kareem murder this person? I¡¯m living with a serial killer. Why is she all pale like that? How long has she been here? Did he tell me to cut the grass so I¡¯d find her body? Where is he right now? I¡¯ve been staring at this body since before the sun went down and I don¡¯t have any answers.


    Lord, please help me. Guide me through this. Deliver me from Evil, protect me and bathe me in your righteous light. Protect me from evil Lord, drive those forces that would harm me from this place and give me the strength to move forward.


    ¡°You do that killer?¡±


    ¡°What the fuck,¡± I jump away in a panic but Kareem is gripping my hand so I can¡¯t go far.


    ¡°Real jumpy for a killer.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a killer, you did this.¡±


    ¡°Did you see my do it?¡±


    ¡°Who else could have done it,¡± I can¡¯t pull away from his hand.


    ¡°We should go inside and talk.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere with you.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re smart, you will.¡±


    ¡°Help,¡± I scream at the top of my lungs.


    Before I can scream again Kareem has contorted our bodies. Now he¡¯s standing behind me with and arm around my throat, and my own arm pinned behind my back. He pushes me through the back door and into the house. His grip is too strong, I¡¯ve been held like this before, but I can¡¯t get any air no matter how hard I fight back. He¡¯s not even breaking a sweat. I slam the back of my head into his face and he just laughs as he tosses me to the ground on in the living room. I try to crawl away but he just steps on my ankle and stares down at me.


    ¡°Can you stop running? I¡¯m not going to hurt you,¡± Kareem is just annoyed with it all.


    ¡°There¡¯s a body in the garage.¡±


    ¡°I killed her.¡±


    I try to stand and run; I don¡¯t see him move but he¡¯s in front of me now. I throw a punch at his face and he doesn¡¯t budge, another and nothing. Punch after punch and he¡¯s unfazed. I try to push past him and he only pushes me to the ground. Before I can move his knee is digging into my chest and he¡¯s staring emotionlessly into my eyes. I¡¯m fighting for my life and he¡¯s got the same cold look he¡¯s had ever since I met him. Lord, why did you lead me here?


    ¡°I can do whatever I want to you right now. You couldn¡¯t stop me. Stop fighting, and listen, before I change my mind.¡±


    ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°To order pizza and watch Death of a Salesman. Instead, I¡¯m stuck holding you down because you keep trying to run away when I just want to talk.¡±


    ¡°If I talk, will you let me go?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, and then you can run off to the cops or whatever you want.¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll let you ask the first question,¡± he removes his knee from my chest.


    Kareem takes a seat on the couch, legs spread and hands on his knees just staring down at me. His lack of facial expression is what bothers me. He¡¯s just staring, not making any motions, if it wasn¡¯t for his subtle breaths, I might think he was a sculpture. The eyes are the window to the soul, and I can never see into his, they¡¯re always empty. He doesn¡¯t have a soul, he¡¯s a monster. That¡¯s how he could kill so easily and act as if this was a normal thing. I do have questions; I know he¡¯ll just lie, but if playing his game keeps me alive, I have to play. Lord, watch over my tongue.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean why?¡±


    ¡°I mean, are you a serial killer? Why did you kill her?¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Kareem pauses and furls his eyebrows in the first sign of emotion I¡¯ve seen from him. ¡°I guess I am a serial killer. I never thought of it like that, I just thought of it as survival.¡±


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    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about,¡± he¡¯s just making me more confused.


    ¡°Hey, I¡¯m a vampire.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Vampire. I drink blood.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a vampire.¡±


    ¡°What¡±


    ¡°If you say what again, I¡¯ll rip your arm off because I know that you know what a vampire is.¡±


    ¡°Wh- How?¡±


    ¡°Dad was a vampire. The same way human babies are born.¡±


    ¡°Vampires aren¡¯t real.¡±


    ¡°You believe in God right? You¡¯re always going on and on.¡±


    ¡°God has nothing to do with this.¡±


    ¡°God has everything to do with this. You can¡¯t believe in vampires because you¡¯ve never seen one before, but you can believe in God? You pray to God three or four times a day. I¡¯ve heard you. But never once, has God answered you. Meanwhile, a whole ass vampire is looking you in the eyes.¡±


    ¡°Stop.¡±


    ¡°What do I need to do to prove it? You want me to bite you? You want to see me drink blood? Is it the violence that excites you? Is that why you didn¡¯t call the police right away?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re an abomination, an affront to God.¡±


    ¡°You know when you masturbate, I can hear it right? You shouldn¡¯t be watching porn, especially not gay porn. Don¡¯t deny it either, I can smell it too, every time you finish. Heightened senses and all that. I suppose we¡¯re both abominations according to that book of yours.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re sick.¡±


    ¡°Vampirism is indeed an illness.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re insane.¡±


    ¡°I wish I was insane, then, this wouldn¡¯t be my life.¡±


    I can¡¯t tell if he¡¯s lying or not. I don¡¯t know if all this is a joke. He¡¯s doing nothing to help remedy the situation. Everything he says can be sarcasm or the truth and he just stares at me. How can he expect me to be calm and rational when there¡¯s a dead body in the shed and he¡¯s sitting there like a sociopath, unmoved by the entire situation. My God would not forsake me, even if I don¡¯t know what to say he¡¯ll guide my words, my actions. This is indeed the Valley of The Shadow of Death, and I am walking through. I know God will protect me, but the fear has overwhelmed me. My spirit is unbreakable, but at the end of the day I am just a man made of flesh and this body can be broken.


    ¡°You know what? You should go to the cops. There¡¯s a dead body, right where we left it. There¡¯re bite marks on the thigh that will match my teeth. A murder has been committed, and I left evidence,¡± Kareem gets off the couch and crouches down so close I can feel his breath as he speaks. ¡°There are people to take care of the body for a small fee and they¡¯ll get it done before the cops arrive. Even if the cops do come, it doesn¡¯t take much for me to pack up and just start a new life somewhere else. I don¡¯t have any friends, or family that will miss me. I can watch movies, wherever I want. But you, a new life won¡¯t be so easy. Not a lot of people are dying to live with a chronic masturbator who reads The Bible out loud and can only pay $100 for rent. You look sticky and broke right now. You should pray about that. But don¡¯t worry, you¡¯ll always have me. I¡¯ll always find you, wherever you go, and I will punish you. The way that book tells you Satan is waiting below to torture you for your sins in death, I¡¯ll be waiting around every corner in life,¡± Kareem pauses and squeezes my face with a painful grip. ¡°The other option is you can mind your business and go on with your life as if nothing happened. I don¡¯t really care if you leave me alone.¡±


    I just keep sitting on the floor, expecting him to rush back and kill me, but he never comes. The sun has already set when I get off the floor. He doesn¡¯t stop me when I walk out the back door. The body is already gone, and I never heard him leave the house. There must have been some truth to what he was saying. No, this is a lie, this is all nonsense.

 Chapter 7- Wesley - Live in Fear

    For the last week I¡¯ve been waiting for the moment when Kareem decides I know too much. He keeps walking around as if nothing is wrong. On the contrary, he acts as if we¡¯re childhood friends. He talks more, even coming to the second floor of the house just to check on me. At least he claims he¡¯s checking on me, in reality, I think he¡¯s stalking me. He can kill me whenever he¡¯s ready but he¡¯s choosing the perfect time. I¡¯m not without my own preparations. I¡¯ve been gathering my own supplies in case we¡¯re forced into a confrontation. I keep a vial of holy water in my left pocket and a stake in my right pocket. The scent from the braided garlic necklace I¡¯ve taken to wearing no longer bothers me. He hasn¡¯t shown any signs that it bothers him either, but he¡¯s a killer, a serial killer. Aren¡¯t serial killers sociopaths? He wouldn¡¯t know how to display that my new charms are bothering him. He¡¯d only attempt to get closer in an attempt to remove them from me.


    I make my way down the stairs, on the toes of my feet, trying not to make a sound as he watches a movie in the living room. I don¡¯t want him to hear me, but he throws a hand into the air to wave at me, letting me know that I¡¯ve been seen. I drop the stealth and quickly make it to the kitchen. I simply want to prepare a meal for myself, something fast and easy. I think there¡¯s some sausage in the fridge. A few peppers, some onions, that¡¯ll work.


    ¡°Hey, what are you making,¡± Kareem enters the kitchen, having paused his movie.


    I do the only sensible thing I can to escape, I pour a bag of rice onto the floor and wait for him to react, but he doesn¡¯t do anything. He just laughs and looks at me strangely.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to count the grains of rice,¡± I ask.


    ¡°Why would I do that?¡±


    ¡°Vampires, you¡¯re obsessed with counting.¡±


    ¡°I think you have me mixed up with the guy from Sesame Street. My math skills are terrible, even counting money trips me up sometimes,¡±


    ¡°Well, stay back, I¡¯ve got garlic, and Holy water.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m only a half vampire, that stuff isn¡¯t going to work. The smell of garlic is just going to really annoy me but it¡¯s not dangerous.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what you¡¯d say just to keep me away.¡±


    Kareem tries to force a smile, and struggles. He still hasn¡¯t figured out how to do it on command. I¡¯ve only seen a real smile from him when he¡¯s watching a movie he finds enjoyable. Nothing else has managed to remove the vacant look from his face. For now, he¡¯s trying a large smile that shows all his teeth, struggling to keep his upper lip from snagging on his teeth. He wouldn¡¯t have that problem if his lips weren¡¯t so dry. I¡¯m sure he thinks it¡¯s flattering but the entire situation reads like an H.P. Lovecraft novel for me. His smile isn¡¯t comforting, I can only think of some kind of small demonic creature crawling free from his mouth, shedding the skin known as Kareem.


    I¡¯m paralyzed with fear as he approaches me, still smiling. My body stiffens as he places a hand on my shoulder. His other hand reaches below my shirt, almost as if it were slow motion. His hands aren¡¯t cold, but they aren¡¯t warm either, the smooth skin of his palm climbs my chest before a feel a feint scratch while his hand grips the garlic I had hidden beneath my sweater.


    When I come to my senses he¡¯s struggling to peel a piece of the garlic in front of me. I watch silently as he finally manages to remove the peel from a clove by rubbing it in his palms. He tosses the rest of the garlic onto the counter and places the clove on his tongue. I watch and as he winces and chews the garlic, occasionally opening his mouth wide for me to see. When he¡¯s finished and sure I witnessed the whole thing he rushes to the fridge and downs half a gallon of orange juice.


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    ¡°Told you, that stuff doesn¡¯t work on me,¡± he gloats as his face still winces from the garlic.


    ¡°What about,¡± I fumble on the words, ¡°I¡¯ve got holy water. That¡¯ll stop you.¡±


    He closes his eyes and spreads his arms as if her were being crucified. He motions for me to splash him with the holy water. I hesitate as I pull it from my pocket and contemplate what might happen. If I splash this water on him, he might be disfigured, or killed. But, I¡¯d rather do it now and prevent an issue from arising later when it doesn¡¯t work. I strengthen my resolve to splash the water on him. He doesn¡¯t melt, scream or anything like that. In fact, he does nothing, but stand there, only slightly wet. When he does open his eyes he grabs my wrist and removes the bottle from my hand before drinking it in two big gulps.


    ¡°That was holy water.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re going to use holy water, it needs to be some super blessed stuff.¡±


    ¡°I got that from a preacher.¡±


    ¡°You might as well have paid $29.99 and called his hotline too? He hustled you. Anything else you want to try?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a stake.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m not taking any risk with that one. I haven¡¯t tried to kill you, so how about you don¡¯t try to kill me,¡± he waits for an answer but I can¡¯t give him one. ¡°Are we cool or not,¡± I sense the irritation in his voice.


    I¡¯d be irritated too if I had a mouth full of garlic, rice stuck to my feet and a face full of tap water, ¡°so we¡¯re cool.¡±


    ¡°Good, what are you making for dinner?¡±


    ¡°Sausage, with some peppers and onion.¡±


    ¡°It would go nice with that rice you make, the kind with the tomatoes,¡± he adds to the menu.


    ¡°Do you mind floor rice? It¡¯ll be cleaned and cooked.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t mind, we can watch a movie while we eat.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± is this his way of a peace offering? It would be best if I accept. I¡¯d rather have dinner with a murderer than be dinner for one.


    He helps me scoop up the rice before scurrying off to the basement. I¡¯m sure he¡¯s looking for a movie. I just cook, carefully. He rarely eats so I need this to be perfect, if I just keep him satisfied, he won¡¯t eat me. By the time he¡¯s returned from the basement I¡¯ve gotten the food cooked, plated and sitting on the coffee table. Almost as if he heard me, he probably did, he appears with a thumb drive and loads up a movie.


    It''s an old movie called Coffy, the kind of cocaine fueled films of the 70s that my father would have seen in his youth. Filled to the brim with the things that he still preaches against today. The film stars a young Pam Grier, working as a nurse. In her spare time, she tracks down the people leading the drug ring that turned her sister into a heroin addict. She infiltrates the organization by posing as a prostitute and from there the film is filled with murder, sex and general mayhem. I¡¯m not sure if he purposely chose to show me a film filled with prostitution and murder to send a message to me or he generally enjoys the movie. Since I found the body, he¡¯s been more talkative, but never this much. He¡¯s constantly pausing the movie to give me different trivia. Coffy wasn¡¯t successful in the theatre so they turned the planned sequel into Foxy Brown. I didn¡¯t see him as a smart person, but he¡¯s pointing out different film techniques that he finds interesting.


    I can¡¯t understand him. Everything he does seems as a way to deliberately threaten me; but the way he touched me earlier. Is he interested in me romantically? He¡¯s kind of cute, I might consider, despite the fact that he¡¯s a serial killer. Then again, I could be imagining things because I haven¡¯t been sleeping well. Almost eighty percent of the population would suffer hallucinations if they¡¯ve become sleep deprived. Right now, I¡¯m suffering through incremental sleep deprivation, as well as a healthy dose of paranoia to only exacerbate the situation.


    I¡¯ve grown accustomed to hiding myself amongst others; shrinking who I am to avoid offending anyone. I thought I sensed the same thing in him, but I don¡¯t even see cracks of anyone else below the surface. Is he really this ambiguous about everything except movies? I almost feel like he¡¯d be scarier if he was the classic depiction of a vampire. Paper thin white skin, pointy fangs, hissing and maybe even a tuxedo with matching cape ensemble. Instead, he dresses similar to me, the language he uses is the same as mine, and he eats the same food as me. He¡¯s just a normal person, but there¡¯s a monster lurking beneath the flesh and I can¡¯t see it. I¡¯ve been told the monster is there, I¡¯ve seen the monster¡¯s work. All I¡¯ve seen is a person who seems to be somewhat awkward and doesn¡¯t manage emotions well. But, I haven¡¯t seen the monster, and that¡¯s what scares me the most.

 Chapter 7.5 - Kareem - Eight Legged Freak

    The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout. Down came the rain, and washed the spider out. Up came the sun and dried the all the rain, and the itsy bitsy spider went up the spout again. The nursery rhyme comes to mind as I watch a spider slowly lower a web and hang from the ceiling corner of my room. I¡¯ve been watching to for a while now, just wondering what it¡¯ll do, but it¡¯s just watching me. I wonder if bugs have thoughts, what would a spider think about? Does it have a favorite kind of bug to eat? I wonder if spiders have a little language we can¡¯t understand. Even with my vampire hearing, I can never hear it make any sounds.


    There should be more movies about spiders, happy movies about spiders. I reach for the composition notebook by my bed to scribble some ideas. I turn to the last page and see that it¡¯s been filled. I¡¯ve got another notebook around here somewhere.


    ¡°Hey, don¡¯t move,¡± I point to the spider.


    I check the drawers in my desk, these are all full. Already got so many ideas. I need to start writing more scripts, or put together money to film them. I¡¯m not sure how I¡¯d get the money and crew, but it can¡¯t be that hard. I might be able to find something on the internet. Under a Do the Right Thing shirt covered in dried blood, I find an empty notebook. I guess I didn¡¯t do the right thing last time I wore this. I should try to wash the blood out of this later. I liked that shirt but blood is a good reason not to wear them.


    ¡°I¡¯m back, thanks for staying put,¡± I give the spider a thumbs up.


    Alright, ideas for spider movies. We can do a spider as an invisible friend. Giant spider, but it gets bigger the more love it¡¯s given. Spiders stop an alien invasion because the aliens are afraid of them. The story of Santa, but Santa is actually just a group of spiders. That¡¯s why nobody can see him, he just turns into spiders running away. Spider-Man but he¡¯s got a spider¡¯s head and shoots webs from his butt. No, that¡¯s silly. Maybe spiders are too boring to make good movies no matter how horrifying they seem. I can only think of three good ones. Arachnophobia, 8 Legged Freaks and The Mist, but technically they were aliens in that one.


    ¡°Is an alien based on a spider still a spider,¡± the spider doesn¡¯t spell an answer in the web.


    I watch as it scurries to another corner, not worried about whatever I¡¯m doing. I wonder if spiders think. I wonder they would think about. I think they¡¯d have thoughts about the way the world treats them. They¡¯re seen as these big scary monsters who kill people with a single bite when most are completely harmless. The world isn¡¯t really fair and even insects, arachnids, like them feel that. Do spiders stay in contact with their kids or siblings? Is it just every spider for themselves after they hatch from the eggs? We all know turtles go to the beach and burry their eggs then run off before anything can eat them, but we don¡¯t know much about spiders. Maybe I should film a nature documentary about spiders.


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    ¡°The gentle spider is often not understood. It has a reputation as a killer. It only kills to eat, and eats what it kills. Spiders have no need for me and you. They don¡¯t even care about dogs and cats. They¡¯re much more, focused, on other bugs to devour. It checks it¡¯s small and raggedy web, nothing has landed on it but dust. The Spider scurries along to another of it¡¯s trapping locations, only to be sad once again.¡±


    Maybe I should take the spider outside, it hasn¡¯t caught any food and these webs seem kind of old. I grab and empty can of chewing tobacco that has been on my dresser for too long. I got bored and wanted to see why people loved the stuff. It was disgusting but I finished the can because I paid of it. I had been using it as a reminder of my stupid choice; now it¡¯ll make a great spider transport can. It doesn¡¯t take much to get the spider in, maybe it likes the smell of chewing tobacco. The smell was nice, but that was all, so I could understand. It just fell into my trap so easily.


    Spiders remind me of myself sometimes. Just trying to survive in a world that isn¡¯t really meant for them. They¡¯re monsters, by no choice of their own. They simply try to survive and the world sees them as monsters for every terrible horror movie ever. If the world could see me, they would treat me the same way. They would lock me up like some cannibal serial killer. They wouldn¡¯t understand that I was just trying to survive. The way people just murder for fun is no different than a kid with a magnifying glass burning ants. They¡¯re killing to get some kind of thrill, it¡¯s just part of how I eat. I don¡¯t really have a choice if I want to keep living. Sometimes I¡¯m not sure why I¡¯m living, or even if I want to. I tried not drinking blood for almost a year, and every time I found myself giving in when I could have just let myself die. The difference is life doesn¡¯t torture a spider. I wonder what it would do if I pulled off one of the legs, maybe I heat up the can and see what it does. Then, it would be more like me. But it doesn¡¯t need to be like me. I¡¯ll just let it go outside, this is way too big to have been an inside spider and it has more than that pale white color.


    I spot Wesley in the kitchen as I come up from my room in the basement. ¡°Wassup,¡± I ask him when he spots me.


    He doesn¡¯t answer me, he just freezes. I can his heart speed up, it seems like blood is rushing more towards his face. He hates me, or he¡¯s afraid of me. I can¡¯t tell. He doesn¡¯t open his mouth to give me an answer, just rushes off up the stairs. I think it¡¯s fear. He¡¯s not carrying around garlic and holy water, but he¡¯s avoiding me. He does everything he can to not look me in the eyes.


    ¡°Alright, you¡¯re free now,¡± I pop open the lid and sit it on the ground. I watch as the spider gains an understanding of it¡¯s surrounding but doesn¡¯t leave. ¡°Hey, the world is scary out there, and there¡¯s a lot of bad people, but don¡¯t be scared. You have to keep hope, and eventually you¡¯ll find some friends of your own. Just be yourself, but not too much. If people know the real you, they might be afraid. We¡¯re just not understood. Nobody ever wished me luck, so good luck.¡±


    The spider dances around the tin for a moment as if it understood my words. It slowly makes its way out into the grass before scurrying into a bush.

 Chapter 8 - Wesley - Dissociative

    ¡°Wow, what a fucking faggot,¡± Wes laughs.


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that. I¡¯m not that word. That word does not define me. I am a creature who embraces God¡¯s love and aims to spread it across the world.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re trying to spread some of that vampire boy¡¯s sodomite semen all over your body,¡± West takes a seat on my dresser.


    ¡°Stop saying stuff like that,¡± I scream at him.


    ¡°Why? Are you scared mommy and daddy might hear that you like penis? They¡¯re not here. Wait, are you afraid of Hell? Is that it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to Hell.¡±


    ¡°Because you¡¯re living in Hell already. People already know you¡¯re a homo and you sit around masturbating all day. All fucking day. You literally, beat the skin off your dick sometimes. You¡¯ve watched more porn than most people have TV. It doesn¡¯t even take porn; you see a cute guy in class and you¡¯re ready to join the one-man firing squad. How many guys have you actually slept with? Two, then you just decided you¡¯d pray away the gay because pastor said it was wrong?¡±


    ¡°I told you, I¡¯m not gay,¡± I yell at Wes.


    He hops off the dresser and crosses the room until we¡¯re eye to eye. His eyes look just like mine, but filled with evil. I try to look away from him but he takes my chin in his hand and forces me to stare at him. I try to break free but he¡¯s too strong.


    ¡°Faggot, fag, homo, queer, you¡¯re stuck on these words being hateful, these words cut you so deep,¡± he pauses and lets me go. ¡°so, fucking deep. But they aren¡¯t what¡¯s hurting you. It¡¯s the fact that you¡¯re hiding who you really are. You¡¯d rather live in the shadows, afraid of going out and living your life. You sit there, bitching and moaning about other gays living their best life, because you can¡¯t. What really makes you mad, is you don¡¯t even hide it good. The moment your mind drifts you start to switch when you walk, you accidentally catch a peek at the urinal. Did you get kicked out of the gym because you were in the locker room staring? Maybe if you just told everyone you were gay, you¡¯d stop being such a creepy little pervert.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not gay!¡±


    ¡°Why do you keep yelling? They¡¯re going to think you¡¯re crazy. Crazier.¡±


    I roll off the bed, trying to avoid Wes¡¯ grasp. I start to dig through the side drawer. I just need my medication. He doesn¡¯t think I¡¯m fun when I take my medication; he¡¯ll abandon me again, just like every other time. I used to think he was fun to be around, but he just got more controlling as I grew older. My medication made me feel and act like I was just watching from inside my own head. It made me boring to be around too, and that kept Wes away. But any time I stopped taking my medication, I felt like me again even with all the issues that brought. Sooner or later, Wes would pop up again. Moving all the way to Minnesota was part of getting away from him. I don¡¯t know how he found me, but I¡¯ll probably need to move again. Did I not bring any medication with me? Why would I leave it behind? I guess I thought he wouldn¡¯t find me here.


    ¡°Stop running, just follow my lead. I¡¯ll have your life set up exactly how you want it,¡± Wes taunts me as I run to my bathroom.


    I rummage through the medicine cabinet. None of this stuff is mine, it probably belongs to Kareem¡¯s last roommate. It¡¯s all allergy medicine and cough syrup, none of this will help me. Did he kill his last roommate too? Fuck, I might have some pills in my luggage. I rush to the closet and search the duffel bags and suitcases I moved in here with, nothing.


    ¡°Choir boy,¡± Wes pauses to laugh. ¡°That¡¯s funny, you¡¯re going to be the closeted choir director. Probably neglect a nice Christian girl. Put all that self-hate into pumping her full of baby batter so you can prove you aren¡¯t gay.¡±


    ¡°Shut the fuck up,¡± I step into Wes¡¯ face.


    ¡°Do you know what divine retribution is,¡± he whispers in my ear while rubbing my shoulders from behind, much more subdued now.


    ¡°Yeah, I know. I live in fear of it. The ultimate punishment.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he licks my ear, sending chills through my body. ¡°Divine retribution isn¡¯t just the ultimate punishment. You can survive punishment,¡± he puts one hand around my waist and another on my throat before rubbing his head on the side of my neck. ¡°Divine retribution is doom, there is nothing else afterward. Why do you fear it?¡±


    ¡°Because I¡¯m weak,¡± my body feels like putty in his hand.


    The hand on my waist moves lower, my body quivers as it grasps at my penis through my shorts ¡°you think Kareem is your divine retribution. You think you¡¯re being punished for hating yourself, one of God¡¯s children. You don¡¯t have to lie, I know how you think. Isn¡¯t that right?¡±


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    ¡°Yes,¡± I struggle to get the words out despite my mouth being wide open.


    ¡°Then let me lead the way, let me find out.¡±


    ¡°You can have whatever you want.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Wes lets me go and pushes me to the floor.


    I gather my composure, stand up and straighten out my clothes as he leaves the room. I follow Wes down the stairs and into the kitchen. He opens the fridge and pulls out a pitcher of red liquid that Kareem said not to touch. He spits into the glass and laughs.


    ¡°What are you doing,¡± I ask.


    ¡°You said, I could do whatever I want,¡± Wes smiles.


    He takes his finger and swirls the spit into the red liquid. As he pulls his finger out, I can see the liquid is thick, and we both look confused. Wes sniffs the finger, scowls as if he¡¯s thinking before shoving the finger into his own mouth. He seems surprised as he pulls his finger out.


    ¡°What is it,¡± I ask eagerly, almost like watching him when we were kids again.


    ¡°It¡¯s blood. That nigga really drinks blood,¡± he puts the pitcher back in the fridge.


    ¡°Can you not use that word, I find it really holds us back as a people.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re more concerned about me using the word nigga than the fact that your roommate is drinking blood? You really must want to fuck him. Or, you like getting fucked right?¡±


    ¡°Stop, this has gone too far, you need to leave,¡± I shout at him.


    ¡°I¡¯ll leave when we¡¯re done,¡± Wes heads towards the door leading to the basement.


    ¡°Don¡¯t go in there.¡±


    ¡°You wanted to learn if he¡¯s a killer right?¡±


    ¡°Please stop.¡±


    Wes opens the door, ¡°he might not be a serial killer, he doesn¡¯t even lock the door,¡± Wes laughs as he walks down the stairs.


    I¡¯ve never been in Kareem¡¯s room before, I thought it¡¯d be a dungeon with moldy cinderblock walls or and chains. There¡¯re cinderblock walks but they¡¯re painted gray. Two of the walls features a mural covering their entire surface. I recognize some of the faces and scenes depicted. It takes a second before I piece together they¡¯re all from different movies. His room is also pretty neat and well kept. I guess I¡¯m surprised because he¡¯s always lounging around in shorts or sweats, not really doing anything. He has a sloppy demeanor, but he isn¡¯t one. That¡¯s nice to know.


    ¡°Hey, look at this,¡± Wes calls me over to a wooden desk.


    There¡¯s some sketchbooks that I flip through, some interesting drawings. A few of them demonic looking, but others are kind of cute. Some of the pages feature poetry, or attempts to be poetic, but most seem like camera directions, or angles a camera would capture. I¡¯m not sure, they just look more like diagrams than sketches. A few composition notebooks look to have handwritten scripts in them. I¡¯m not sure if he wants to be a director, a writer or a tattoo artists. I could help him type up the scripts one day, maybe get a film deal.


    Wes sighs, ¡°you¡¯re missing the big part,¡± he yanks open a drawer ¡°boom baby,¡± he points out a gun with a few bullets rolling around in the drawer.


    ¡°What is that,¡± the words leave my mouth before I can think.


    ¡°A gun, you idiot. The better question is why a vampire needs a gun. He might be a serial killer, but he ain¡¯t a vampire.¡± Wes takes the gun from the drawer, and aims at me, closing one eye and staring down the sights.


    I smack his hand away, ¡°stop playing with that.¡±


    He tosses the gun back in the drawer and heads to a basket of clothes in the corner before rummaging through it. I focus on the poetry; it isn¡¯t well written and doesn¡¯t seem to have an extensive vocabulary. It¡¯s honestly less poetry, and more of a badly written narrative.


    ¡°Catch,¡± Wes calls out.


    I swat at the air and manage to catch what he threw at me. It¡¯s a pair of Kareem¡¯s boxer briefs. I toss them onto the ground which causes Wes to laugh. He picks them up and takes a deep sniff of them before smiling at me. He looks into the underwear and nods with approval.


    ¡°No skid marks,¡± he laughs.


    ¡°Stop that.¡±


    ¡°Hey, this is what you wanted right,¡± he holds the underwear up to my face as I look away. ¡°You wanted some hot, vampire, dick,¡± he laughs. ¡°At least you can get a smell whiff of the sausage and eggs.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to.¡±


    I feel my legs leave the ground and my heart begins to race as I¡¯m dropped to the floor. I don¡¯t know how he did it, but he''s looking down on me now. I struggle as he shoves the underwear in face, demanding I smell it. He laughs when I finally get away from him.


    ¡°You know what you should do,¡± Wes asks.


    ¡°Leave.¡±


    ¡°No, you should do what you always do,¡± he makes a masturbation motion with his hand.


    ¡°I¡¯m not doing that.¡±


    ¡°Go ahead, I can tell that you¡¯re turned on. Hell, I can see that you¡¯re turned on.¡±


    ¡°Stop.¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you do something about it? Won¡¯t have many chances to do that kind of thing here.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t do that.¡±


    ¡°Why? Because I¡¯m watching? I¡¯ll close my eyes,¡± he covers his eyes with his hand, then peeks through. ¡°Just do it or that tiny terror is going to be throbbing with pain all day,¡± he places a hand on my knee.


    ¡°Stop,¡± he starts to move his hand up my shorts, ¡°what if I get caught?¡±


    ¡°Then you¡¯ll get your answer. Either he¡¯ll fuck you or you kill you. If you don¡¯t, he won¡¯t do either. Let¡¯s be real, I want it just as much as you, but you¡¯re holding me back,¡± Wes uses a free hand to place the underwear over my face again.


    My phone begins to vibrate and a bell starts to ring. I have church tonight, Bible class, I can¡¯t be doing this. I try to push Wes off me and stand up but he¡¯s strong. I manage to break free, tossing the underwear away and towards the pile.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡±


    ¡°Church.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t we finish here,¡± he asks.


    ¡°We¡¯re done. You should have never come here.¡±


    ¡°I cam here because you wanted me here, you needed me here,¡± he stands up and adjust his shorts.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need you and I don¡¯t want you here.¡±


    ¡°You do, even if you don¡¯t know it yet,¡± he pauses and picks up Kareem¡¯s underwear. ¡°Hold on to these for me, we¡¯ll finish later.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not doing anything later.¡±


    ¡°Hopefully, we¡¯re going to be doing Kareem, together,¡± he laughs.


    ¡°Stop saying stuff like that.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen him, he¡¯s kind of hot.¡±


    ¡°Shut up,¡± I yell at him.


    He takes the opportunity to kiss me, putting his tongue deep in my mouth, ¡°go to church, but we¡¯ve got to make up for lost time later.¡±


    I watch as he puts Kareem¡¯s underwear into his pocket and walks up the stairs. Crap, I¡¯m letting him control me again, lead me to bad situations. I¡¯m bigger than this. I¡¯m old enough that I shouldn¡¯t be falling victim to peer pressure. I need to figure out how to get rid of him after church. If not, Kareem might be willing to kill him for me. I¡¯m sure he doesn¡¯t want a second roommate anyway, even if the house is big enough.

 Chapter 9 - Kareem - The Noose

    Wesley hasn¡¯t avoided me for the last week or so. He¡¯s been more aggressive, but conflicted about something. He¡¯ll join me for a movie, but get up half way through or only watch for the ending. He¡¯s not going to church or class every day. On occasion, I can hear him arguing with himself. Just going back and forth with himself over some guy. I¡¯ve started to wonder if it was my fault, if I broke him. The whole vampire thing, and the dead body. I haven¡¯t exactly eased him into my life. Sometimes father will say that I¡¯m strong and can¡¯t force others to be bred and raised the same way I was. I can¡¯t expect others to make the same choices and react the same way I do. He¡¯s not reacting well to what I¡¯ve done, or maybe he was always like this. I didn¡¯t pay much attention to him before he saw the body and started trying to kill me. No, he wasn¡¯t like this. I broke him, ruined him like everything else. Nothing I can do now but wait. He¡¯ll either kill himself, someone else or I¡¯ll kill him in self-defense. It might be easier to just, do it myself. No, he talks to his family all the time, they¡¯ll be worried if he suddenly vanishes. I have to remember to ask the next roommate about family ties.


    I¡¯m thinking about this too much, a movie should take my mind off it all. Casino is an underrated classic. People go so far as calling it a copy of Goodfellas or saying it can¡¯t compare to Mean Streets but it has a charm that belongs to nothing else. It doesn¡¯t just tell a story, but focuses on the history of the characters as the city. It has similarities to Goodfellas but it¡¯s more evolved, and refined. It¡¯s a beautiful film.


    But I can¡¯t seem to enjoy it right now since Wesley is arguing with himself again. Odd, because it¡¯s 3am and he should be asleep by now, even crazy people have to tire themselves out sometime. But it sounds like it¡¯s coming from outside, the neighbors won¡¯t like that. I better go get him inside. Do I need to bring a blanket? I always see firefighters and paramedics give out blankets. He¡¯ll be fine without one.


    He¡¯s easy to spot, right outside the kitchen window in nothing but his underwear. I always laugh when there¡¯s a grown man wearing tighty whities in a film. I don¡¯t know why; they just seem like something you stop wearing when you stop being a kid. Wesley keeps yelling at himself, name calling mostly as he struggles with a rope. I¡¯m not sure what he¡¯s doing until he holds the end up. Tying a noose, or trying. He pulls at it with his hands, testing it, until it easily comes apart. Soon he¡¯s trying again. Wes this, Wesley that the argument continues. He¡¯s trying to kill himself, and he¡¯s going to be sloppy about it too. I can just let him do it. That¡¯ll solve my problem. He just looks so pathetic, trying to tie a noose the same way over and over again, just to get the same results. He¡¯s got all the enthusiasm of someone who never really tried to kill themselves. A black man trying to hang himself, he¡¯s not even thinking about this. There¡¯re easier ways to do it than a janky noose. Gunshot to the heart, slitting your wrist, jumping off a tall building. He doesn¡¯t seem to care for pain so a cocktail of random pills, intentional drug overdose. I¡¯ve tried it all but he¡¯s not a vampire, so he should be just fine. If fine means he¡¯ll be dead.


    After thirty minutes of watching, he finally gives up on the noose and ties the rope around his neck before making a knot that satisfies him. He spends the next fifteen minutes clawing at the tree, slipping down over and over again as he tries to make it to the top. He should have tied the rope once he got in the tree and made sure he knew how to climb a tree. Another fifteen minutes passes with him sitting in the dirt, arguing with himself about why the tree was a bad idea. Wesley hops to his feet and rushes over to the shed, tossing objects around, still dragging the rope behind him. I¡¯m hoping he chooses something messy, like a nail gun, or chainsaw. In the end, he settles on a ladder. He tests the length and easily ties it to a tree branch.


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    I¡¯m forced to watch as he struggles, kicking his legs in the air. The goal of hanging is to snap the neck, not a slow and painful death, he¡¯ll pop his head off like this. I¡¯m reminded of a puppy I had named Micro. It was right after the whole vampirism thing kicked in. I had bitten a stray cat, because I was thirsty and didn¡¯t know why, but my body told me if I bit the cat, I¡¯d be satisfied and I was. When she found it, she beat me. I was so used to the beatings at that point that I didn¡¯t care. One day, while I was on my way to school, she took Micro and tied his leash to a radiator, then tossed him out the window. I watched as he tried to bark and break free. By the time broke down the front door and made it upstairs, he was already dead. I didn¡¯t go to school that day or anymore after that.


    I can see blood starting to cover his neck as Wesley claws at the rope. He really did choose a terrible way to die. He hasn¡¯t looked in this direction the entire time I¡¯ve been watching, but now it feels like he¡¯s staring right at me. Asking for help, but can¡¯t get the words out. I wonder if Micro knew I was trying to save him. I hope he didn¡¯t spend his last moments thinking I had abandoned him. Maybe it¡¯s a good thing Micro died. His life wasn¡¯t ruined by knowing me anymore. I haven¡¯t thought about Micro in years. Maybe Wesley isn¡¯t the only person going insane.  I can¡¯t do it, I can¡¯t let him die even if it would solve my own problems. Why can¡¯t I let him die? I never cared about anyone dying before, I killed people. Fuck.


    I don¡¯t rush out the back door, and I¡¯m not in a hurry to get to him either. I¡¯m still conflicted over the whole thing. As I get closer, I¡¯m watching him jerk and kick towards me. I don¡¯t know if he wants my help because he¡¯s afraid to die or if he¡¯s trying to keep me away from him. He¡¯s running out of energy; he won¡¯t die soon but he¡¯ll pass out. I step back when he kicks me in the head, watching, waiting. I don¡¯t know why. I¡¯m reminded of the scene in The Green Mile when everyone just watched as they knew an innocent man was being executed. The Green Mile, that¡¯s so basic, is that all I can think of? Wesley¡¯s fighting less, more swinging and trying to keep the rope from closing on his neck than anything else. Occasionally he kicks out. I can¡¯t help but laugh when I realize he¡¯s trying to get back on the ladder. I suppose he does want to live. I climb the ladder, and place my hand between the noose and his scratched bloody neck. One quick yank and the rope is broken, there¡¯s a thud as Wesley hits the ground. He¡¯s knocked out, but still breathing. I nudge him a few times with my foot but he doesn¡¯t wake up.


    I lift him up into my arms and carry him inside, for a moment I think about dropping him on the couch but he¡¯s dirty, sweaty and smells bad. I watch movies on that couch. Instead, I carry him up the stairs to his bedroom. He keeps whispering about angels saving him. Delusions of a mad man, there are no angels in this house, only devils. As I place him on the bed, he strokes my cheek repeatedly despite me pulling away.


    ¡°Stop touching me, I don¡¯t like to be touched,¡± I smack his barely awake hand away from my face.


    Looking at him now, he¡¯s pitiful looking. I should have left him there to die and saved both of us some time. If he hadn¡¯t kept fighting, and just gave in this could all be done by now. Maybe my mother did Micro a favor when she made sure he wouldn¡¯t need to keep living in this world. I could have done that same favor for Wesley.