“Fuck, man! Fuck!” Down screams and scrambles back before tripping over his own foot and crashing to the floor. He gracelessly regains his feet and tears the handheld radio from his shoulder. “All units posted, respond! Ten-thirty-three on the crime scene, send assistance for officer in shock, east wing gymnasium, one suspect in custody—over!” A few seconds later, a tinny voice crackles back in that incomprehensible electronic babble only police officers seem capable of understanding. Down replaces the radio, looking mildly relieved and breathing hard.

Cuffs continues his pitiable weeping, drawing the head back to his chest and folding in on himself. I realize I’m staring in dispassionate silence, though I know I’ll be appalled at the memories later, if I manage to get any blood. Like the smell of vomit on the day of the contaminated noodles, the stench of old, dead blood is thoroughly sickening, despite my starving body. Down holds his gun out in Cuff’s general direction, pointed securely at the floor. He glances my way and does a double take at me. The look in his eyes is comparable to his reaction on seeing Ace’s head for the first time.

“Freak.” he mutters. “Gods, you look like you’re watching a CubeTube video or something. The fuck is wrong with your generation?” I look away at the floor, suddenly too tired and thirsty to care about putting on an act. I can always deflect questions about my reaction by saying I was in shock. People react in such a variety of ways during acute stress, no one would hesitate to accept my explanation. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Gyre.” I say, still staring at my feet. It takes me a second to realize that something changed soon after I spoke; the weeping had stopped. I look up to see Down no longer glaring at me, but watching his partner with an intense expression of anticipation. Cuffs had raised his head, turning to me.

“Cuffs? Partner?” Down says adjusting the grip on his pistol. Cuffs doesn’t respond, only staring at me in an uncanny imitation of an owl sensing prey.

“You.” He says, his voice a hoarse rasp, “Why are you here before the buses even started running?” I can’t fault him for asking, it’s a strange coincidence. Down steps forward, almost placing himself between us.

“Hey, I need you to take a big step back.” Down says to his partner. “You’re in no condition to—”

“Shut up!” Cuffs screams back, setting his son’s head on the floor with a hasty respect and starting to rise “Answer me, you little shit! You did this, didn’t you!” With that, Cuffs launches himself at me, but Down steps in his path. The men collide and, for a moment, I remember how easily Rock knocked me over, but Down was prepared and rebuffs the shorter man. I leap to my feet, unsure whether running would be less safe than staying put and hoping Cuffs remains restrained. On one hand, it would look suspicious to run. On the other, I don’t want to have to defend myself against the much larger police officer. I remain frozen by indecision. They crash together again with the younger man straining to hold back his partner while maintaining a safe grip on the pistol. The gym echoes with their grunts and the squeaks of boots sliding across the smooth floor. Throughout the struggle, Cuffs says nothing, only watching me with those wide, burning eyes as he fights to charge past Down.

“Get your shit together, old man!” Down roars, shoving the other man back, creating space to raise his pistol. There’s a clatter as Cuffs’s foot lands on his forgotten gun and he sways, before regaining his balance. He looks like he’s about to charge again, but halts, seeing Down’s weapon pointed at his leg. Both men come to a standstill, breathing heavily and reminding me that I hadn’t been feigning the need to breathe, myself.

I inhale a slow, deep breath, hoping a gradual transition won’t be noticeable. Somewhere in the middle of the breath an odd sensation ripples through my chest. I exhale through my lips and immediately re-inhale, clamping both hands over my mouth when a jet of thin, red mist billows forth, directly at the two officers. At first, it seems to linger, but then I watch it dissipate like water vapor in fast-forward. Down’s back is to me and I’m relieved to see Cuffs didn’t notice, too focused on the gun pointed his way. Footsteps echo to my right and I turn to see a familiar pink face and flowing, colorful hair peeking around the corner.

“What are you gonna do, Down? Shoot me? The perp’s right behind you, asshole!” Cuffs says, his breath hitching. Down retreats a step, throwing a look over his shoulder at me and coughs before turning back. My hands are still placed over my mouth. If there’s more of that red mist inside, I can’t release it with Celestia looking directly at me.

“Gyre!” She chimes, jogging down the hall toward us, “What’s going on? I told you to stay put!” As she nears, I hear the sound of a door bursting open in the distance, followed by the tromp of many booted heels. Celestia hesitates at the noise, but continues approaching. Down backs through the doorway, nearly becoming another victim of the metal shard protruding from the unfinished repair job. Cuffs stays put, but I can tell he’s getting ready to grab for the pistol under his foot.

“Ma’am, please step away from the suspect.“ Down says, clearing his throat and taking a hand off his gun to ward away my principal. The motion betrays a subtle waver in his posture. I want to warn Down about his partner, shout at Celestia to stay back, but I can feel the mist in my mouth now, a metallic-tasting humidity. To make matters worse, I think I see wisps of something dark at the edge of my vision, as if it’s leaking from my nostrils. Cuffs coughs and Down twitches, his hand slamming back onto the pistol.

“Suspect?” Celestia says, sounding almost personally offended. She blinks a couple times and seems to have trouble focusing on Down as she tries to glare at him. “This student only just arrived for a scheduled community service program! Why would you bring him here—look at him!” Celestia steps beside me, reaching across my chest to place a hand on my shoulder and I feel her lean against me for a split second, as if to steady herself. I realize I must look terrified, with my hands over my mouth and a mutilated corpse only yards away. Better lean into the act. I let Celestia turn me away from the scene and we walk several steps away while Down shouts, struggling to keep an eye on all three of us.

“Ma’am! That student is a suspect; let him go, or I’ll have no choice but to place you under arrest for Obstruction!”

Dammit! Just let us go, jockstrap.

“But...you should...you should go.”

Wait. What? I turn to study Down. His face looks strained, as if he’s concentrating on some diabolical brain teaser.

“There might be evidence around here and...you could disrupt it. Just go. We...we’ll question him later.” Celestia and I take another step away and exchange puzzled looks. Does this about-face in Down’s attitude have something to do with the mist? Why now?

“What are you…?” Cuffs’s voice comes from the gym, “You’re working with them, aren’t you?” Down continues staring at his partner, sweat beginning to form tiny, sparkling beads on his forehead as his expression transitions to one of confusion and panic. He blinks several times and passes a shaking hand over his eyes. “You son of a bitch!” Cuffs screams in animalistic rage, his voice breaking and wavering. I can no longer see Cuffs, but I hear the clatter of the pistol he had been standing on. Down’s eyes grow wide and a deafening report reverberates through the halls as he fires his shaking weapon. I hear the ricochet, signaling a miss. Cuffs must have been successful in taking up his own weapon because a second report crashes through the air. Down grunts in pain as the silver gun slips from his grasp. I smell the fresh blood before I see it leaking from his shoulder. A beast of an impulse seizes me and I take a step back toward Down, my eyes drawn to the dark stain growing where his shoulder meets his chest. I feel Celestia tug me back and my senses return enough to let her, though not without some resistance.

Cuffs rounds the doorway, shoving Down against the wall with his free hand and brandishing his pistol with the other. Celestia’s grip tightens on my arm and shoulder and I want to shout at her, command her to retreat to the approaching cavalry, but my mouth is still full of that mist. The metallic flavor is gone, replaced with something sour and almost electric.

Just run, Celestia. Please.

Her hands are suddenly gone from my shoulder and I hear the hoof-like beat of solid heels pounding away behind me. Though I’m glad she happened make the smart move, I can’t help feeling surprised. Cuffs’s eyes leave mine and I see the gun’s barrel twitch away from me to somewhere over my head. Before I realize his intentions, Cuffs fires. A body drops to the floor. The scent of new blood hangs thick in the air. Though my emotions are almost entirely dampened, the thirst has become as distracting as it is monstrous in the presence of an open wound. A stained, distorted thought breaks through the crimson murk of my mind like a pearl rising from bloody mud and I shake my head as I try, desperately, to comprehend it.

When I look back up, Down is using his left hand to reach for the original black pistol he had stored on his belt, wincing through what must be the extraordinary pain on his other side. Ignorant of the imminent threat behind him, Cuffs turns his owlish eyes back to me, followed by the barrel of his gun. My new, sharper eyes let me see the round head of the bullet pointed directly at me from the rear of the barrel before he pulls the trigger. In that moment, the truth comes to me, as disturbing as clearing the mud from the truth-pearl to find that it was an eye, all along.

Drop it, I command, without speaking.

Too late, the gun goes off and I hear a bullet whine past my ear.

A new, male voice cries out in pain behind me just before the gun falls to the floor. A second gun drops and I look past Cuffs to see that it’s Down’s. Did he receive the command as well?

With both shooters disarmed and the sound of new officers arriving just around the corner at both ends of the hall, I spin to face Celestia. She lies prone, but mobile, slowly turning over on the floor. At first glance, I see no red on her or the tiles below her.

“You’re surrounded!” Someone shouts, “Surrender your weapons and hold your hands above your head!” Further down the hall, a new face peeks around the corner and I catch a glimpse of two hands holding a gun. Someone in uniform limps out of sight. There’s a restroom between me and the corner, but it’s labeled with a blue and white female sign. No time to be picky. I wait for the face to dip back and leap over Celestia as I make a dash for the door, keeping one hand over my mouth and nose. I grab the handle and pull, remembering to hold back at the last second so I don’t rip the thing out, screws and all. No dice, the door doesn’t budge. “Freeze!” The same voice shouts. I hear the clip-clop of Celestia’s heels as she rises to her feet and I turn to face her. Her hands are above her head, but she slowly approaches me. Behind her. Cuffs stands stock still, sporting a thousand-yard stare while his partner behind him simply leans against the wall, breathing rapidly between his teeth and clutching at his wound.

“I’m the principal of this school! I called to report the murder! Can I please let this student into the restroom? I think he’s going to be sick!”

Tell them to let her do it, I think at Down. He lets out a cry of pain and fatigue before answering.

“It’s okay, boys!” Down calls out between breaths, shaking his head and rubbing at a temple. “They’re not going anywhere.”

“Alright, lady, make it quick!” Celestia nods and turns her hip toward the officer down the hall, fully displaying the steady motion of pulling keys from a pocket. She unlocks the door and pushes it open for me, flipping a switch inside that activates both lights and ventilation. I hasten through and scan the room for the vent. There, in the largest stall at the end of the room, a square-shaped metal grid is embedded in the ceiling over the toilet. Celestia watches me from the doorway, concern etched in deep lines across her face, making her look closer to her age than she probably ever has. With more hesitation than I gave to Down or Cuffs, I think a command at her.

Keep your eyes on Cuffs.

Her head turns, but her eyes don’t follow immediately, as if she had to force them. With Celestia occupied, I make my way to the far stall. I balance on the bowl and angle my mouth up to the grille. Black smoke billows forth and is sucked through the holes. I clamp a hand back over my mouth. Where the gas and vent made contact, the metal shows instant signs of corrosion and a hole begins to form in the structure. That’s awesome, but incredibly unhelpful at the moment. I took a fairly large breath earlier and there’s still a lot in me. After a moment of consideration, I climb down from the toilet and sit on the rim, thoughts racing through my head as police swarm the scene outside.

Is there a crack in the walls I can use? No, this building is well-maintained and I might damage something important, anyway. Can it be be diffused throughout the room? It seems pretty potent and I can’t risk it hurting anyone or damaging other things. Breathe it down a sink drain? Probably not, it might burst the pipe or rise up and damage something.

Gods, what can I do?

As if in response, I notice a growing stickiness inside in my chest and a vague urge to cough. Not actually needing to breathe, the feeling is easy to suppress. Curious, I stand and place my head over the water in the bowl and cough with a hand over my mouth. A black ooze splatters my fingers, accompanied by faint wisps of smoke. I cough some more and my hand begins to fill with the thick, greasy fluid. A few drops leak over the edge of my palms, falling to the water. The bowl begins to hiss like shaken seltzer water as the blackness vanishes into frothing white bubbles. A heat rises from the bowl and the water begins to steam. I kneel down and cough into the water. For several minutes, I continue to expel what I can into the bowl. Just when I think I’m done, the coughing becomes genuine and white vapor accompanies each hacking bark. The greasy feeling in my mouth becomes oily, then slimy, like ordinary saliva. I spit one more time into the water and the projectile looks completely normal, even floating in a stringy, bubbly clump on the surface before dissolving into the steaming water.

“Are you okay in there?” Celestia says.

“Yeah, just...had a spicy breakfast. Came back up with a vengeance. I think I’m good, now.” I say, pushing open the door and stepping through. Putting on the best shaky-knees act I can muster. Celestia steps back to hold the door open for me and positions herself between a new cop and myself as we face each other. Only the faintest hints of fresh blood linger in the air, largely replaced by the stench of old death again. It helps with the impulse to latch onto the nearest blood vessel, but it doesn’t change the fact that I need to, and soon.

“Ma’am.” He says, raising his hands in a pacifying gesture and offering her a look pleading for reason. “We’d like to take this boy in for questioning. Based on my colleague’s statement, he’s a potential suspect in this case. Now, I doubt he’s involved, but we need to follow procedure and get him cleared so he can get home and rest, maybe see a counselor or a therapist if necessary.”

“He has an alibi.” Celestia responds, probably more fiercely than she intended because the officer raises his eyebrows. “I can give you a statement right now to verify it and I’ll show you to the security office to review last night’s footage through this morning.” She says, dropping most of the edge in her tone. “I’m sure you’ll find all the evidence you need to clear Gyre of suspicion.”

“I’m also willing to give my statement and provide a contact number for someone who can corroborate.” I say.

The officer asks a few more questions about the recent events and the reason for our presence in the school, all of which we answer honestly, omitting certain details like vampirism or mind-control vapors. When he’s done, he waves over a very young-looking cerulean officer whose shoulders bear no rank insignia. Her hair is a shock of burgundy, cut to a stylish and professional shortness.

“This is Officer—”

“Juniper Slam.” Celestia finishes for him. “I’m glad to see you were able to decide between dancing and justice.”

“Oh, I never did choose, Miss Celestia.” says Officer Slam, with a respectful smile, “I dance weekends with a performance group downtown.” Celestia beams back and is about to say something else when the first officer speaks up.

“Well, I’m glad this is a friendly reunion, really, but we have a crime scene to secure.” Officer Slam stiffens and nods to her superior, producing a pad and two pens. “Detective Tale will be by to take your written statements and ask any further questions. Please be as honest and thorough with her as you were with me.”

He departs, calling out to others and handing out orders as he passes. Celestia leads us to an empty classroom where we take seats and quietly fill out the statement forms.

By the time the detective arrives, my head is bobbing. I had to read and reread every sentence of my own statement several times to be sure I didn’t accidentally let something slip. I don’t know what I’m going to do about blood. I can hear the heartbeat of everyone in the room and those passing by in the hallways. The warm, living fluids coursing through their veins call to me in their squishy voices, begging for release. When I’m certain my statement isn’t self-incriminating, I pass it to the detective. She’s an older woman with silvering hair, who looks to to have stepped out of a sepia photograph.

“Principal Celestia, is there somewhere I can lie down?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Detective, would you accompany us as I take this student to the nurse’s office? It’s just down the hall.”

“Certainly. We have EMTs on site, probably more than necessary, are you sure one of them shouldn’t look at him?” Detective Tale says. Celestia turns to me, passing the question with a look.

“I feel fine, just very tired from everything.”

“Yes, it’s my understanding that you were both shot at by an officer. Sounded like he had a psychotic break. Let me be the first to apologize on behalf of the CPD. Technically, I shouldn’t share details of the case, but since I can’t imagine either of you are involved in a crime like this, I’ll say I’m fairly certain we’ve already found the killer.”

As much as I’m willing to believe that statement, I have my suspicions this is either bait for us to let our guards down, in case they do still suspect us, or a false lead. Surely, such a grisly murder, in wake of the recent strangeness going on, couldn’t be so simple. I’m going with bait.

“How much of the school will you need to shut down?” Celestia asks.

“The whole of the east wing, certainly.” Tale says with a sigh. “At least for today. Unless we find evidence too close to the edge of the search radius, we’ll begin to tighten the active investigation scene over the week. We’ve already contacted your superintendent to inform them of the situation. I expect you’ll be seeing him soon. Something about holding an ad hoc service for the deceased.”

We reach the nurse’s office and Celestia unlocks the door, holding it open for me. I step through, into the narrow white and green office that smells of sterilized plastics and cleaning fluid. In the more open rear bay, navy blue foam mattress cots, with disposable paper and plastic sheets stretched across them, lie in wait for ill students.

“I’m just going to leave this front light on for the nurse.” Celestia calls to me.

A glow flickers on from the lobby section and I hear the solid wooden door close. Their voices trail away into the ambient sounds of booted heels, crackling radios, and the occasional shout. I finally drop my leaden backpack on the floor beside the farthest cot and climb onto it, the sheets aggravatingly loud to my senses. I close my eyes, knowing I’m forgetting something, but feeling too worn to care. It feels like it takes hours, but I manage to tune out the voices in the halls long enough for sleep to take me.

When I awake, it’s to the feeling of something stirring near my thigh and a headache the size of a planet. I slap at the moving object, annoyed, until I realize it’s my phone. I dart up into a sitting position. Dammit, I forgot to tell anyone what was going on. I dig into my pocket, feeling the fabric tear in places where my razor-like claws make contact. Grumbling, I withdraw the phone with care and unlock it to find over three dozen text messages, all of them from Rock. The clock in the upper-right corner says 1:09 P.M.. I read as the nurse sporadically types something at her computer.

I open the unread message string and begin scanning the bubbles of text.

WHERE ARE YOU? MURDER MYSTERY OUT HERE. EVERYONES IN THE
LIBRARY

You get arrested or something? Haha

Srsly tho.

You alrite?

The texts continue on over the course of the next few hours with Rock’s concern and panic escalating.

DUDE, i’m frekin out rite now! they won’t tell us who got mercd so everyone is calling and txting the absent kids and everyone they know.

someone started a list and everyone filled it with the abesent kids and theres only 5 left who haven’t updated they’re status or textd back or somthing. COME ON MAN!

4 left

3 left dude. WHERE THE FUCK YOU AT??? You’re supposed to be unkillable or something right?

Okay. Things might get wierd if ur still alright. You and Ace are the last 2 who havent answered anyones texts and everyone is looking at me like Im supposed to know something. I hear them whisppering about it and they stop when I get close. Shits creepy man.

Called ur mom again, left her a message. Gonna see if I can ask a cop but the teachers not letting us outta th library. Ninja time.

holy shit i did it! Got caught but Principal Celestia says I can come see you in a bit. Says their trying to get in touch with ur mom first.

omw! Sry if we wake you up!

I type out a quick reply, letting him know I’m already awake, set the phone beside me, and hold my head in my hands. The light from the screen seems to have intensified what was already a stabbing pain. I’m at least grateful I don’t have a heartbeat that causes it to spike every second. A few moments later, I hear the door open, shuffling footsteps, and Celestia’s distinctly melodic voice. She sounds half-dead.

“Hi, Lilygrass.”

“Hello, ma’am. Hey there, young man. What can I do for you two?”

“This is Rock, he’s just here to see his friend in the back. We haven’t been able to reach Gyre’s mom, so I thought it might be nice for him to have some friendly company before the service.”

“Oh, okay. Uhm, please sign in here, Mister Rock.” I hear the rattle of a clipboard and a pen clicking. “Oh, you forgot to add the time. That’s okay, I got it...and you’re good to go. Just around the other side of the wall here, I think he took the bed against the far wall. By the way, ma’am, my sister asked me to thank you for the card you sent her. Said it was just what she needed to hear.”

“Oh, thank goodness, I wasn’t entirely sure what kind of humor was appropriate for, well…” Celestia lowers her voice such that Rock wouldn’t have been able to hear, even if he wasn’t several feet away already, “...divorce. But it felt right.”

“It certainly was. Lilygreen is smiling again, at least.”

“Happy to help.” Celestia says, the smile audible in voice. “Please let these gentlemen know the school is hosting Mister Longshot’s service in the library in forty minutes, when the bell rings.”

“You got it!” Nurse Lilygrass says. The adults exchange farewells and the door closes. Rock’s voice comes from just behind me, but I hear the beating of his heart long before he even comes within ten feet of me. I can hardly think straight as the throb of his circulatory system signals the arrival of prey. Only cold, hard logic keeps me from pouncing. I’ll be hunted if I kill him now.

“Hey, dude. You alright? What happened?” He comes round to my front as the fluorescent lights come to life above us. “HOOOH-LEE SH—” Rock staggers back and trips over a cardboard box, sending smaller boxes of latex gloves scattering across the floor.

“Is everything alright back there?” Nurse Lilygrass says, poking her head around the partition. I take Rock’s reaction on seeing me as a sign not to turn around. Rock stares up at me from the floor, shock and terror stamped across his face. I answer for him.

“Yes ma’am, he just tripped.” He continues to stare, his jaw quivering. I shoot him a look and indicate the nurse with my eyes.

“Y-y-yeah. Wasn’t w-watching where I was going.”

“Okay...” the nurse says before returning to her desk. “Just please pick that up before you go.” Rock nods to her, a faraway look in his eyes as he rises to his knees and starts cleaning up his mess. The pounding of his heart is almost deafening.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper. Rock slings his smartphone from his pocket, swipes at the screen a few times, and holds it out to me with a trembling hand, averting his gaze. I can see he opened the camera app and activated the screen-side lens so that the holder sees themself when facing the screen. I take it and slowly tilt the screen toward me. My cobalt hair comes into view just before a patch of mummified-looking ashen flesh. I tilt the screen away before I see more. I’ll have enough physical and existential dread to deal with when I feed again. Not a good time to add to that. “Oh.” I murmur.

“Yeah.” Rocks whispers back. “Did you get any more blood, or what?”

“No, but I learned something new about myself. Can you try to calm down, please? Your heartbeat is driving me crazy.”

“Sorry…” Rock says, stuffing the last box of gloves in with the others. “Here.” He steps away and draws the curtain quietly around the cot, taking a spot on the other side of it where I can’t see. “Better?”

“Kinda, yeah.” I say. I can still hear his heart, but him being further out of arm’s reach helps some.

“So, what was it?” He says. “The new thing.”

“I’m not sure, maybe a breath weapon. Something like that. I think it uses blood.”

“Awesome...well, kinda. What did it do?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it right now. I’ll tell you later. Maybe. If I’m not chased out of here with pitchforks and torches.” My vision blurs as I struggle to focus on speaking and remaining seated.

“About that...I think if you...you know,” Rock says, lowering his voice even further, “...it might make you normal again?” I try to deny the underlying suggestion, but my willpower flounders at the finish line and my tongue moves of its own accord.

“Yeah, maybe…”

“So, do you need me to come in there now or…?” I make a desperate attempt to come up with something to deter him, but all I can think about is methods of extracting blood. Bloodletting was once performed with crude iron and bone tools by so-called professionals whose entire medical knowledge could be covered and retained in half a semester of advanced high school classes. How hard can it be?

“Yeah, I think there’s a safe-ish way. See if you can find gauze, some of that thin rubber hosing, and a plastic cup or something.”

“Alright.” Rock says and I hear him wander around the bay for almost minute before he returns with a series of tiny pill cups, still wrapped in plastic, and an unopened box of gauze. “This should do, right? I couldn’t find the hose and I think the nurse might hear if I start diggin’ through the drawers.” The cups are smaller than what I had in mind, but the waiting is literally re-killing me.

“Perfect. Just take the chain off your pocket, then.” Still averting his gaze, Rock drops the box on the cot, unwraps the cups and separates a few from the stack, then unclips the clinking accessory and holds it, looking unsure. “Give me your hand, I need to find a vein.” He offers his left hand readily enough, but I can see the trepidation on his face. Understandable. I try not to rush as I pull him nearer and look over the series of blood vessels snaking up from his wrist to his knuckles. “Okay, give me the chain.” He relinquishes it from the hand he offered and I roll up his long sleeves to his bicep, layering the fabric there, around which I tie the chain. I don’t need to ask him to flex his hand, the veins bulge as he does so and I select the most visible one. “Alright, this is probably gonna hurt ‘cause I need to cut slowly to make sure I don’t just destroy the vein.”

“Alright. What are you gonna cut with?” I take one of the pill cups with my free hand and demonstrate the sharpness of my thumbnail by effortlessly slicing the plastic apart. “Oh. Damn.” I turn back to his hand and place my thumb over the target blood vessel. “Wait, aren’t you gonna sterilize it first?”

“Oh, right...wow. Hang on I’ll get some—”

“No, just stay behind the curtain, there’s a camera up front, remember? I’ll go get the alcohol.” He unties the chain and steps away before I can argue, returning a few seconds later with the cleaning agent and already rubbing a healthy amount into the skin of his hand with a cotton ball. “Alright, now you.”

After thoroughly scraping, swabbing and soaking with the alcohol, we take our positions again and I hover my freshly sterilized nail over Rock’s vein.

“Alright, ready?” He nods and I press with miniscule pressure at first. Rocks sucks in air through his teeth as razor sharp bone slices into the thin flesh. A line of red shows up around my nail and the smell of blood fills my head as I feel my fangs begin to elongate. I focus every fiber of will on keeping my hand and body under control. I drag the nail across the skin and feel more blood ooze from the cut. Just a little deeper. I press more firmly and the bloodflow suddenly expands to form a small trickle that falls onto floor. I let go and turn away. “I can’t look anymore.” I hiss and hop off the cot. I take a step away, holding my clean hand over my nose. It doesn’t help. “Just let it drip into those cups.” Rock doesn’t respond, but I hear the patter of liquid hitting the bottom of a cup.

“You okay…?” he says.

“No.” I close my eyes and wrap my arms around my body. I drop to my knees and curl into myself. I can’t afford to lose control, not here. An idea strikes me and I hold a hand out in Rock’s direction. “Just a little at a time. Whatever you have, pour half into another cup and give me one.”

“Alright…” Rock murmurs. I hear him shuffling cups around before he places one in my hand. Immediately, I can feel the warmth of the fluid inside and bring it to my face. I place a fang inside the rim and tip it back until I feel the blood being absorbed, spreading an almost painful heat through my gums and into my skull, like the burn of strong alcohol. My vision is flooded with a bloody curtain of color, blocking out all other stimulus. The beating of innumerable hearts drums in my head, a frenzy of bassy, liquid thumps. I feel myself uncurling, my hands flexing, strength returning in a hot surge to every muscle fiber. Like the incident in the teacher’s lounge, that nebulous sense of a looming, cosmic presence returns. I can’t tell if the feeling of impatience is my own or a superimposed projection onto my mind. I seem to crest some sort of high, after which the drop is immediate and steep. My vision clears to the sight of Rock’s face. His eyes are closed and a single tear has left a glimmering streak behind it. My hand is pressed to his throat and my claws are fractions of millimeters from tearing into his flesh.

“Wha…?” I mouth, lacking air with which to exhale the sound. I snatch my hand back and take a breath to speak. “What happened? Why didn’t you say anything?” I hiss, noticing the room remains dark and still with the curtain drawn around us. No rushing nurse, no panicked or confused screams. Rock’s doesn’t answer, his eyes staying closed as another tear squeezes past this eyelids. “Rock, I could have killed you!” He mumbles something, but his words are so slurred and broken I can’t understand. “What?”

“I said, I’m already dead.” Rock whispers. His wounded hand has fallen to his side and blood drips to the floor. I take his hand and place it over an empty cup.

“No, you’re not.” I say, firmly. “Dying is not the same as dead. You still have life left to live, dumbass.”

“And what a life it’ll be.” He says, words dripping with sarcasm. “I might as well go out helping a friend. Maybe if I turn into a vampire too, I won’t have to worry about the cancer.”

“Our lives aren’t the happiest, I’ll give you that, but they’re not trash either. What about your grandpa and me? How would I ever be able to face him, if I killed you? How do you think I’d feel if I killed my only friend?”

“But you might not, man!” Rock says, fiercely, “I might not just live, but—”

“Rock, you don’t want this, trust me.” I cut in. “Just getting here, to the school, was a pain in the ass. I already almost died, came close to killing my own mom, and I feel like a cop is going to try to frame me for a crime I didn’t commit because I had to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, just to survive my second damned day like this. And look at me! Is this really what you want to become?” I jab a hand at my own face at this last sentence. He looks away.

“But it’s not fair.” Rock says through gritted teeth, fresh tears forming in his eyes. I swap out the nearly full cup under his hand for an empty one while he’s not looking. “I get a one-in-a-million cancer and you get fucking superpowers.”

“Man...I’ll trade ya. Any day.” I mutter. “There’s a lot more baggage that comes with this than not being able to get a tan. Becoming a psychopath every eight hours or so, these fuckin’ things,” I wiggle my razor-tipped fingers at him, “...and hearing voices. This really sucks. No pun intended.”

“You hear voices?” Rock says, sniffling a little and looking back to his bleeding hand.

“Yeah, it’s pretty scary. I never thought vampirism might come with schizophrenia.” I take up a cup and stare into the pool of blood inside.

“What do they say?”

“Just one so far. Told me to ‘slay the revenant’. Whatever that means.” I dip a fang into the surface of the blood for a couple seconds, then pull it away with an effort. I still feel a strong desire to drain the person standing beside me, but the little blood I’ve taken in has done wonders make it more resistible.

Gradually, the urges subside as Rock rations me his blood. Eventually, I feel I can face him without having to force back an impulse to attack.

“You’re a life-saver, man, literally. People are probably still alive right now because of you.” I say. Rock looks up from the cup he was focused on and grins.

“Yeah, I’m kind of a badass.” He whispers. “You don’t look like beef jerky anymore, by the way. Still look like a fresh corpse, but better.” I take up my own phone from the cot and open the selfie camera to inspect myself. I’m still rather pale and veiny patterns can be seen below the skin of my face and neck, but Rock is right..

“How do you feel?” I say, tipping back another smidgen of blood.

“Whoof, I gotta say, it’s a little creepy how casually you drank that, but I’m okay.” Rock deadpans. “You?” I look down to the empty cup in my hand and feel a twinge of horror.

“Pretty terrified of myself, but I’ll make it. You can stop now, I think I’ll be okay for the rest of the day with what you gave me.” Rock nods and gestures to the gauze with his free hand. I wet some cotton with alcohol and place it on the open vein. He holds it in place as I lay a strip of gauze over it and wrap his hand a few times, tightly. I turn away, suddenly very self-conscious as I finish off the blood.

Rock gathers the used supplies, taking them back where he got them. He brings back some paper towels and begins cleaning the blood that fell to the floor. I take up my backpack and the dirty cups as I head to the restroom in the rear of the bay. After changing, I study my reflection in the mirror while rinsing the blood from the cups, watching the visible vein patterns recede, almost imperceptibly, like re-sealing cracks. Fractures in the fragile scrap of humanity that has been spared in me. I crumple the clean cups and hurl them into the trash can as an abrupt fury grows in me. I catch the sight of my eyes smouldering with crimson light and my hands form into claws as I resist the urge to ball them into fists. I can’t imagine the agony experienced by rape victims, but the unsolicited, undesired modification to my very genetic identity leaves me feeling violated on the most personal level I can imagine. I walk in the body of a creature I never wanted to be and I’m forced to fill my veins with the blood of what, and who, I am not. Nothing about me is genuine or natural. I can’t even predict who I will be, should I choose to live with this. Already, the raw empowerment of my new capabilities pulls on the thread of my morals. I can go anywhere, take anything I please, tear this world apart, and the people in it, as they struggle to even identify what they fight against. I’ve never possessed such potent agency to dictate the course of my own life or the lives of others.

It terrifies and delights me to no end.

Man or Monster - Sam Tinnesz