A Little Undead (15 page)

I
started tapping against the wall, an evolving percussive beat to
distract me from temptation.
'Was
it all for nothing? All the studying, all the work I put in at my
part time jobs and sucking up to my police
mentor for a
good recommendation, and it ends like this?'
My fist struck at
the wall, small cracks striking through the cement at the force of
the blow.
'All this power, but the price...'
I laughed
breathlessly, falling off the bed as I shook. The floor was cool
against my tear-slick face, eyes scrunching against the halogen
lights.
'I'm falling apart.'
What a cosmic joke, I didn't even
need to die and rise from the grave to have my entire life crumble
around me.

My
heart felt heavy, but as much as I wanted to curl up and sleep away
this nightmare the energy creeping along my limbs and the worries
haunting my mind kept me from staying still.
'Might as well use
annoyance to get rid of the other.'
Too
nervous to sleep and too full of worry to want to stay awake, I'd
just have to keep my thoughts at bay as best I could.

An hour of pacing and producing
mental static did little to cure me. Turning to pushups and crunches
I couldn't shut out an idle wish to have had this sort of endurance
back when I took the fitness exam. No matter how long I continued my
muscles felt as good as new, but there was something else that was
growing. It was like the urge to eat, to drink, to breathe, all
rolled into one, yet somehow subtle. Considering how selective my new
diet might be, exercising to the point of starvation was not a smart
idea.

I forced myself to sit, staring
at the new plate of food they had brought me. I'd barely even noticed
the drop off, automatically letting my hair fall over my eyes, lips
tightly closed as my fingers curled beneath my palms to hide their
clawed tips from the deliverer. My watchers, however, were likely far
more observant than myself. If I didn't eat for long enough and they
thought I was on some sort of hunger strike... well, I'd rather know
beforehand if their attempt at force-feeding me would prove toxic.

A vibration thrummed at the base
of my throat. It was like the low thrumming of a panther a moment
before it growled in earnest.
'Stay calm.'
I carried the tray
over to the bed after filling the paper cup with water from the grimy
sink. I kept my back to the bars as I stared at the food. The last
thing I needed was someone watching me while I ate. Delicately
lifting a cracker between a pair of claws I turned it back and forth.
'It's just a cracker, it won't kill me. Then again, a week ago I
would have said the same about garlic.'
I took a nibble.
'It's
like cardboard.'
I'd never actually eaten cardboard, but if I
ever did I bet it would taste just like that cracker.
'Is it this
bad because I'm a vampire or because it's prison food?'

I barely tripped over calling
myself a vampire anymore. It was a hard thing to deny after spending
half the day with fangs tickling my lips. At the very least, I was
something decidedly unnatural. Rallying my will I stuck the rest of
the cracker in my mouth, pressing at it with my tongue until it
broke. My teeth for the moment were rather ill-suited for the job of
chewing crackers. While my eyeteeth had changed the most, all of them
had become a bit sharper and more pointed than normal, even the
molars. For the time being I wasn't comfortable enough with them to
not worry about accidentally biting myself as I chewed.

“
Blech.” The cracker
did nothing for my hunger. Should I call it hunger? It was similar
but it seemed to press itself on my mind more than my body. It was
like a slight lightheaded feeling, a hollow, cold pit at the center,
as if life itself and all its sharpness and vitality were slowly
draining away. It was a craving, too. The taste of their blood was
something I could never forget, the remembered flavor nearly as
strong on my tongue as the dissolving cracker that was there in
actuality. I ran a hand through my hair, tucking it behind my ear. I
raised the cup to my lips–

“
God, what is that stuff,
acid?” I coughed again and again, head bent towards the floor
as I tried to expel ever last drop of the vile liquid. My mouth felt
numb but a few gentle probes assured me that everything was still
there, fangs and all. I looked sideways at the puddle on the ground
where I'd dropped the cup. It looked innocent enough, but burn me
once...
'Holly would be laughing if she could see me right now.'
My little sister would probably take a snapshot on that new phone of
hers she treated like a baby.
“Yep,
that's my big sister,”
she'd say, “perched atop a
bed as if the puddle was out to get her.” I really was being
silly, wasn't I. Restraining my impulse to flinch I touched a
fingertip to the puddle. Nothing happened. '
That was
anticlimactic.'

'It's a shame I didn't work
here long enough to find out if they're taping me right now. It's
probably still Fred watching, he's the only one boring enough to
monitor video feeds for hours on end without falling asleep.'
Deciding to play the scientist I refilled the cup after dusting it
off a little. I was pretty sure I knew what had happened now. There
wasn't anything wrong with the water, just with me. I took a tiny
sip from the cup, holding the water on my tongue. It tasted vaguely
wrong to me, but I was able to let a drop or two down my throat at a
time. Anything more than that sent me coughing as my body violently
rejected the non-blood substance. I vaguely remembered something
about adults needing eight cups of water a day. At this rate that
would take me hours and I still might not accomplish it.

I really was going to starve in
here. Or die of thirst. Hunger and thirst were starting to blur
together these days. The food tray made an unsatisfying clatter as I
swept it into the bars. I wanted to break something, slowly and
painfully. Chains and a hostile judge not in attendance I was forced
to find alternatives.

The metal post of the bed gave a
satisfying crunch in my hand. Every twist of the metal as I wrenched
it free heated it hotter and hotter. What cuts I took from its edges
as I reshaped it were shallow, healing in moments as if they never
were. The result of my handiwork was far from polished, but it did
give a new meaning to hand-wrought craftsmanship. “A knife,”
I whispered, wondering why I had made it. It was a dark, foul thing.
The edge was ragged, the entirety of it stained crimson from where my
own blood had ground into it during its making. My claws traced over
the indents of my fingerprints on the handle, the tiny clicks as they
worked their way over the grooves audible to my ears alone.

I had lived with a knife for as
long as I could remember. Terrible creation or not, it brought me
comfort to hold it. The harsh squelch and squeak of a rubber boot
interrupted my musing. My heart jumped to my throat as I stowed the
knife between my bed and the wall, schooling my expression to
stillness. Hesitantly I shifted my seat, hands folded in my lap, face
tilted into shadow. “Miss Fisher, this is hardly befitting
behavior of a police officer.” I froze, but he gestured to the
food scattered by his feet rather than my hidden knife. I had to
give him that one, it had been rather juvenile to throw the tray.

“
Captain, what are you
doing here?” What face would he show me today? Who was the
man behind the mask?

He smiled, cheery demeanor
utterly at odds with his surroundings. “It is my station, is it
not? You know, Bruce was quite worried about you when he heard your
situation last night.”

“
There's cause to be
worried then?” I said lightheartedly. Bruce was sweet for
checking up on me, even if I did get a stalker vibe from him. “When
you called me a police officer for a moment I thought you were going
to let me go free.”

“
Not so quickly, I fear.”

My words came through clenched
teeth. “Listen Morris, I'm not in the mood for your mind games
right now.” My head whipped backwards as a cricket rebounded
off the window before I snapped back to face the captain. A brief
tremor shot through his face before his smiling mask reasserted
itself.
'Did he see my eyes?'

Despite his brief lapse the
captain's voice was firm. “I didn't realize your schedule was
so booked. I simply thought you'd want to know that a man confessed
to being Chains an hour ago. He's being held in another part of the
compound now for questioning. I'd like to ask you if there was
anything else you'd like to say to me.”

My eyes strayed towards where
the knife was hidden. “No, nothing.” I hesitated.
Whatever it was that had pulled Jake through the windshield had been
anything but human. For him to confess, and during daylight? My true
assailant was almost certainly still on the loose. It was a long shot
but, “Did he look normal?”

His chin shifted to the left.
“Normal enough, as serial killers go. No horns, if that's what
you're asking. I mustn’t tell you any more than that. You
understand.”

I remained kneeling but my toes
tensed against the bed. “You know something, don't you.”
My curled left hand edged towards the knife at my back. Not to use
it, but for reassurance. “You must at least suspect it, suspect
that things aren't quite right with this case.” I knew I
shouldn't continue, that every word out of my mouth would dig me in
deeper, but still I kept going. “Make absolutely sure he is who
he says he is. Things aren't always how they first appear.”

“
Why are you telling me
this?” His smile had vanished as if it had never been, body
suddenly tense. His eyes were piercing as he tried to catch my own
that lay clouded in shadows.

“
I don't know,” I
said in a small voice. I did want the killings to stop, but I
couldn't shake the feeling my prime motivator at that moment was
nothing more than a burning curiosity. Serial killers didn't just
confess out of the blue, but if a supernatural monster with fangs and
claws and possibly fur started knocking down the door for your family
it probably wouldn't be that hard to prompt a fake confession.

Morris broke me out of my musing
with a soft aside. “Make sure you eat your dinner tonight.
Hunger strikes are bad publicity.”

“
I'm vegan.” The
words were out of my mouth before I could think.
'It's lies like
this that will get me sent to Hell. Assuming I'm not a soulless
creature of the dark already. But I'd notice something like losing my
soul, right?'
I blinked.
'Assuming it was there to begin
with.'

“
I'll see what I can do.”

My lips twisted into a sad
smirk.
'Well then, the captain is servicing my whims. I should
brush aside all negative thoughts of my soul as simple pessimism, as
the universe is obviously a bright and shiny place, prison cell
notwithstanding.'
“And hold the garlic,” I added. The
captain gave a small, slow nod before walking off in silence.

I had never regarded myself as
much of a socialite but even that brief and tense conversation had
helped sate an urge I hadn't known I had. Trapped here away from
television, books, and people in general, I was quickly becoming
starved for some form of intelligent interaction. But alas, one look
at the man who finally brought the food convinced me I'd probably
have more luck talking with the pile of assorted veggies.

The slop looked like it had been
dumped from a can and microwaved. It tasted worse, the asparagus
slithering like worms down my throat.
I
managed to endure through half of the soggy meal before dumping the
remainder in the sink.
'This isn’t worth the effort.
Maybe I should have asked for a steak lightly braised on both sides –
or neither.'
That would be a
laugh.

“
I've had enough of
this,”
I huffed. My lips curled back over my fangs as my
breath came in short, angry puffs. A gruesome idea occurred to me and
at this point I was ready to snap if it didn't work. Then again, to
even consider this maybe I had snapped already. Here went nothing.
Two pinpricks of pain blossomed outwards as my fangs punctured the
skin of my wrist, tongue lapping at the trickle of blood that flowed
even as it rebelled at the bitter flavor. I drew my fangs from the
wound.

“
Come on, come on, work!”
The wound was already closing and I had little desire to renew it. I
shivered as my tongue tickled the delicate skin of my wrist, wiping
away the final droplets of blood from the wound. A stretch of dry
toilet paper cleaned off my stained chin before I tossed it away
without a second thought.
'It has to work.'
My head throbbed
as I willed my claws to recede. Every time I had returned to normal
had been after I fed or after being half burned alive by the sun, and
I was determined that this time would be no different – even if
the blood I fed on was my own.

Suddenly it happened. The hunger
didn't fade, but my body fell limp as all that restless energy
streamed back towards my core. My mouth closed as my jaw muscles
relaxed, teeth shrinking and smoothing back to normal.
'It
worked.'
Exhaustion swept over me like an ocean and I was
unconscious in seconds.

A chill air swept into the
cave, weaving between our packed bodies, pushing me to wake. My
packmates stirred soon after, the purple glow of twilight visible
from our narrow view of the northern sky. The river bubbled past the
shallow cave we had dug in the riverbank last night, the water a good
sign that life was close by. So near the water's edge the fresh-dug
cave had grown damp during our rest but there was enough of us that
even the tiny amount of body heat my packmates gave off was enough to
keep me comfortable.