Flesheaters and Bloodsuckers Anonymous: A Dark Humor (23 page)

            Harold made great
leaps for his car once he left the building and panicked even more when he
noticed it was perceptibly lighter outside.  Morning was here.  Soon, Harold
could be cooked as quickly as Skellie.  He dove into the phantom, fumbling
again for his keys.  Much cooler than Harold had ever been, the car turned
right over with a purr.

            He wasted several
minutes driving aimlessly.  Taking streets where he could and pulling further
away from the building.  Increasing traffic on the highway forced Harold to pay
attention to his surroundings.  He needed to get inside for the day and sleep. 
Not enough time to get to the casino or a safe house and no way he was going
back to the halfway house.  He realized he was close to the apartment.  Maria
might even still be home.  She’d keep him safe for a little while.  Might be
pissed he left, but that could be smoothed over. 

            A large black van
with a couple of large radio antennas attached to the roof was parked in the
complex lot.  He knew the scent, feds.  Agent Potts sat in the driver’s seat. 
He had the gall to lean out the window with a smile and wave.  They were
watching his girlfriend.  Harold stretched his neck and walked over to the
man. 

            “Busy night,”
Number two drawled at him, “better git inside, sun’s coming.” 

            “I’m going to ask
you, politely, to leave.”

            The fed reached
out and rapped on the van’s side door with a thick arm.  It rushed open,
revealing Bergstrom reeking of death, coffee and cigarette smoke.  As usual he
wore large aviator glasses. 

            “Hey Harry,” he
grinned, “dropping in for a quickie?”  They both laughed and it really made
Harold want to rip the door panel off the van and swing it into their faces. 
His horror was rapidly turning into anger.

            “Maria has
nothing to do with FEBs or your little job for me,” Harold said. 

            The two feds only
looked at each other and snickered.  Harold wondered how much effort it would
take to tie them together by their neckties and stick them into the nearest
sewer grate before sunrise.  Not enough time. 

            “Everything about
you has to do with FEBs,” Agent Bergstrom grinned, “besides I don’t think we’ll
be here much longer anyway.”  More snickering followed. 

            “Not her,” Harold
pointed at the apartment,  “I’m the one you’ve got doing your dirty work and,
and if you want what I’ve got you’re going to have to follow my rules.”

            This stopped
them.  Agent Potts straightened up in his seat, made like he was going to get
out of the vehicle, but Agent Bergstrom stopped him with a word.  Bergstrom
stood up inside the van, placing hands on his knees for support.  He was a tall
man and he didn’t have an easy time moving around in the van.  Harold only now
noticed quite a lot of surveillance equipment in the back.  Something beeped
incessantly, waiting to be turned off or on, while a couple of monitors
displayed grainy video of his apartment.

            “Harold,” Agent
Bergstrom said, “we’re the government.  We make the rules.”

            The agent hopped
out of the vehicle and some of Harold’s earlier fear returned.  This was not a
game he had much experience playing.  He wanted them to leave.  So he could go
to bed with Maria, warm, soft Maria and sleep this whole damn thing away. 
Harold edged a glance at the nearing sunrise.

            “Just… Just
leave,” he muttered. 

            Bergstrom tilted
his head at Harold, as if he were analyzing some particularly interesting bug. 

            “Tell you what,
we’ll go,” Agent Bergstrom said with a pointed grin at his partner, “if you
finally have something good to give us.” 

            Harold sighed. 
Resigned to continuing with the game.  “I’ve got something good,” he said, the
dark, swirling chamber of water reared up in Harold’s memory, “I know what’s
happening to group members when they graduate.”

            Both agents
leaned in.  The van groaned from the weight of Agent Potts pulling half his
body out the passenger side window to get closer to the conversation.  It would
have been funny if none of this had just happened.

            Harold told them
about the chamber and the medical facility.  From the curls of their lips
Harold could tell even the agents were disgusted.  They were after all,
different too.  Agent Bergstrom and Potts squealed out of the parking lot at
such a sharp turn the van almost tilted.  But then, the busting of secret
laboratories had that sort of effect.

            He stared after
them, allowing a small luxury of time to let the scene settle.  Birds chirped. 
The wind blew.  He always enjoyed listening to the birds as he fell to sleep. 
It was familiar, from the time before, when he used to wake to birds and fresh,
morning air.  Before the world reared up and bit him in the ass.  The
purple-red sky behind his apartment building hinted at a growing danger.  Time
for him to head inside. 

            He did not take a
slow walk to his apartment, it was more of a running jump and Harold slipped
inside right before the sun’s light peeked over the roof.   He closed the door
and leaned on it.  First making sure all of the curtains were closed.  No light
was allowed to seep in, not even a sliver or a crack allowed to fall on the
floor.  Even the smallest amount of light could burn if he crossed into it.  He
checked first before moving, always this first.  

            His world safely
ensconced in gray semidarkness, Harold proceeded to take stock of his place,
mainly searching for Maria.  She was here, but none of the lights were on
inside the apartment and she obviously wasn’t downstairs.  Harold called out to
her, starting up the stairs when she called back in surprise.

            Maria came to the
top of the landing.  “Stop right there.”

            “What?”

            “You are not
supposed to be here,” she said, coming down and forcing him back towards the
bottom of the stairs.

            “Hey,” Harold
muttered, avoiding the prod of sharp fingernails on his chest.

            “Don’t hey me.” 
She slipped by him, heading into the kitchen.

            Someone’s awfully
cold this morning, Harold thought.  He followed her into the dining room,
watching as she pulled an orange out of the fridge and peeled it.  He tapped
the dinner table with his index finger, contemplating Maria’s mood.  Maybe he
should just tell her about what happened earlier.  Skellie’s arched lifeless
body taunted his mind’s eye, leaving his throat dry.  Harold didn’t want to
relive that for a third time today.

            “You shouldn’t be
here, Harold,” Maria said, while chewing on orange pulp, “You sleep at the
halfway house don’t you.”

            “I wanted to stay
here today, babe,” he said, “You don’t go into work until the afternoon right?”

            Maria looked at
him sourly and continued to masticate her pulp. 

            “I don’t want to
fight.  Let’s just lie down together for a while?”  Harold leaned forward to
stroke her arm with his hand, but she pulled out of reach.

            “Oh, now that you
finally remembered me?”  Maria asked.  She picked up another orange wedge and
nipped it, plucking at the skin with her delicate fingers. 

            “What,” Harold
said, running a hand through his hair, “are you talking about?”  It was his
turn to play the opposing part of their dance and pull away. 

            Maria glared. 
“Don’t act like I’m being crazy.  I’m tired of being cast aside when you aren’t
interested.”

            “I’m not, I
didn’t,” Harold said.

            “No, you didn’t,”
Maria said, “didn’t remember about our dinner date.  Just tore out of here last
week after showing up bloody and bruised.”

            Oh.  “Sorry
babe,” Harold laughed, loud and obnoxiously.  Dinner seemed so trivial, when
he’d seen the world crashing down around him only minutes ago.

            Maria’s eyes
widened.  She stopped, looked him over with a concerned pout.

            “It’s been a rough
week.  I’m here now though,” he offered.

            Maria continued
eating her orange, but gave him a good, hard stare with her beautiful brown
eyes.  Harold knew the stare well, it was a woman’s final card in drawing out
man’s worst secrets. 

            She was about to
ask him how rough and Harold couldn’t handle that right now.

            “Look, it’s
late.  I’m beat,” Harold said.

            If anything Maria
seemed hurt. “You can’t keep me out of your life,” she whispered, tugging at
the last orange segment, “not if you want me around.”

            “I do, I will
explain,” Harold said.  Fear exhaustion hit him in waves. “But let’s talk this
out later.”

            She took the
remains of her orange to the trash and skirted him on the way out of the
kitchen. 

            “I’m going to
take a shower.  You can do whatever you feel like doing,” Maria said. 

            Harold stared
after her as she stalked upstairs.  She made a point of noisily gathering up
clothes and moving around.  Fortunately, she took the time, in Harold’s mind a
positive indicator, to close the bedroom window.  She even closed the curtains
too.  A few moments later the running shower signaled it was safe to go up to
the bedroom. 

            He crept upstairs
to the edge of the room.  All clear, the curtains were closed, definitely a
good sign as far as Maria’s mood was concerned.  He undressed on his way to the
freshly made bed and fell into the crisp sheets with a groan.  It took a
moment, but he noticed Zork’s sluggy scent tickling his nostrils.  Harold
sniffed himself and decided he’d managed to track home Zork slime from some
point of contact during the evening.  He was too tired to shower and Maria
probably wouldn’t appreciate an intrusion anyway. 

            Pushing down the
covers, Harold vowed to shower as soon as he woke up.  The bed sheets were cool
against his skin and such an invitation to sleep.  He sprawled out on his
stomach and buried his face under a pillow, intent on blanking out the last
couple of hours.

            In the foggy
distance, the shower shut off and Maria’s warm body crawled into bed with him. 
He pulled her close, mumbling words unintelligible, but asking for comfort none
the less.  She buried her fingers in his hair and nuzzled his scalp.

            “Poor baby,” she
whispered, “You’ve really had a hard time haven’t you?”  Maria pressed her
cheek against his head. 

            Harold enjoyed
her warmth, scent and closeness.  He mumbled again, absolving her of her
transgressions. 

            “I’m sorry,” 
Maria said, but Harold was too sleepy to respond.  He curled into her scent,
and the covers and slept the day away. 

Chapter Fourteen

            By the time he
woke in the evening, Maria was gone at work.  Even though she had left him to
sleep, he felt pretty good.  The events in the medical facility now carried a
certain distance.  He could carefully examine the memory without the immediate
impact of fear and disgust.

            He’d seen with
his own eyes what Donald was doing to group members who graduated.  If he had
to he’d bet Donald waited until members in group were at their very weakest
before he picked them off.  Despicable even by Harold’s standards. 

            Harold had no
idea why PhenoChem was involved.  The major company provided their fake blood
products to the group and Donald had access to their offices and equipment.  He
decided to try and find out more about it online. 

            The computer was
his last mental block to modern technology, so it took Harold a few minutes to
log onto Maria’s desktop.  Lucky for him Google was her homepage and Harold
somehow ended up at Google maps where he pecked in the street address of the
building. 

            It turned out to
be Phenochem’s local offices and research facility.  Phenochem had been
developing tools and technologies to aid those forced to live “alternative
lifestyles.”  Vamps, bugs, zombs, ogres and other things going bump in the
night were on their top lists of creatures to aid.  They even offered regular
and discreet physician’s checkups to non-normies.  Harold figured it didn’t
include what went on in the basement or maybe it did.

            Phenochem did
develop and offer the blood substitute Donald made everyone in group drink.  It
still left a bad taste in his mouth.  Why, though, would a company working to
improve life for creatures let someone like Donald do such terrible things in
their facility?

            Maybe they didn’t
know.  Maybe they did.

            Harold sat back
and scratched himself.  He had to figure out what to do now.  This job was
suddenly a whole lot more than finding a few addresses on graduates or failed
graduates for FEBs or humoring a crazy vamp for some free blood.  There were
actual, real, painful, dangers involved, namely one Donald whom Harold still
didn’t know anything about.  A scary variable in a tough situation. 

            Last night,
Harold fulfilled his obligations to the feds by sending them over to the
PhenoChem building.  He didn’t know if they would hold up their end of the
bargain and let him off the hook.  Plus, he didn’t know what might have
happened after they left.

            Then too, his
deal with Mephisto.  No real guarantees there.  Harold could let that go, but
it was such a good offer and all he really had to do was let Mephisto know what
went down.  Still it meant dealing with Orlen again.  Even thinking about the
woman set him to digging his nails into the chair arms. 

            Mephisto probably
had the means to back up his offer of a free lifetime supply of blood.  And God
knew, Harold sure could use it.  He didn’t want to get involved in anything
like this ever, ever again.  Not having to skim from the hospital’s blood
supply could help him avoid getting in trouble with the law.  He didn’t think
he could stomach hunting again for a long time.

            Harold knew what
was going on in group these days and he didn’t want to risk sticking around for
any more sessions with Donald.  He didn’t want to end up in the chamber
himself, like Skellie.  Poor fuck.  In Harold’s opinion it paid to be mobile. 
Maybe he needed to take action on his initial plan to skip town.  To do it
comfortably and to start a new life, he’d need cash, a nice buffer of cash.  Mephisto
had cash in spades.

            He called the
man.  Harold didn’t trust Mephisto to follow through on his offer if he gave
out the information over the phone.  Instead Harold told the nice, young woman
to give a message to Mephisto.  Bring him a decent quantity of cash and enough
blood to fill the trunk of his car.  On ice, of course.  He arranged the
meeting for the next night to give him enough time to collect the goods. 

            Harold hung up
the phone.  Idly sticking a thumb in his mouth.  No group meeting tonight, it
was after dark so everyone would be up.  Maybe he could just stay here and hide
out until he learnt what happened to Donald.  Damn, he really wanted to know
what the feds did yesterday.  Maybe Donald was already in custody or dead or
loose and looking for him.  Donald seemed like the vengeful type. 

            He was getting
hungry too.  Maria threw out his blood stash in the apartment and all he had
left were the lukewarm pints behind the radiator at the halfway house.  He
could go hunting, but the thought of engaging in more violence and risk made
him queasy.  He’d probably screw it up and get caught again anyway. 

            Harold would have
to go back to the halfway house for his breakfast.  With luck, Bergstrom and
Potts had already picked up Donald.  If they didn’t, well, he wasn’t any safer
here than at the home.  He might as well clear out his stuff and maybe let the
slug know what happened to the skeleton.  It was the least he could do.

            Everything was
normal, except for the fact that it was all normal.  Harold stared keenly into
the night around him as he headed into the house. 

            Inside he glanced
into the recreation room.  The zombies had Baywatch on again and were watching
the glistening bodies with wide, wet eyes.  He didn’t see Zork in there, but
spent a respectful moment or two watching the life guards.  When the women
stopped running he moved into the kitchen where one of the female housemates
poked around in the fridge.  She popped out from behind the door when he walked
in.

            “Can you believe
it?  Donald took everything out of the fridge and replaced it with this PhenoChem
crap,” She hissed and threw a plastic bottle at him, eyes burning bright red in
rage.

            Harold shrugged,
backing slowly from the kitchen with hands raised.  He knew better than to get
in the way of an angry femme fatale, especially when it came to food.  He had
his own stash of blood to check on upstairs. 

            He found the room
empty.  Vlad still hadn’t deigned to move back in.  He took out a couple of
trash bags and started filling them with clothes and personal stuff from the
bathroom.  Harold also pulled his stash out of the wall behind the radiator. 
Warm, and a little clotted, but still edible.  He punctured a pint with his
teeth and sucked it dry, tossing the empty plastic bag onto Vlad’s bed.   

            Harold didn’t
take long clearing out the rest of his stuff.  In the end he only needed one
large, black trash bag for the things he’d brought to the halfway house.  The
room looked pretty damn unlived in, but it wasn’t his problem.  He toted the
bag back out of his room, continuing the search for Zork. 

            Harold stumbled
across Zork playing an impromptu game of poker with a couple of zombies in
their room, everyone also chowing down on something red and crunchy. 

            Zork stilled when
Harold came into the room, twisting and untwisting eyestalks.  “Something going
on Vampy?”  Zork eyed the trash bag Harold had in hand.  Face growing red, he
shifted the bag behind his legs.

            “Ah, nothing
much.  I’m leaving,” Harold said. 

            The two card
playing zombies creakily looked up at him, suddenly a lot more aware of their
surroundings and him. 

            Zork’s eyes
bulged slightly then narrowed.  “Not skipping town on us are you vampy?  Your
hot snack back home won’t be pleased.”

            Harold shrugged. 
The zombies leaned together in slow motion and conferred with one another,
rotting eyes dilating. 

            “Well, maybe I’m
taking her with me,” Harold said, “not like she can get enough of me.”  He
curled a lip in a half grin. 

            Zork chuckled in
a weird chortling way and Harold laughed along with it, but he had the feeling
the slug wasn’t quite laughing for the same reasons he did.  Once Zork finished
it rubbed stalks together.  The slug asked him, if he was leaving town soon. 

            Harold nodded,
“Got a few loose ends to tie up,” he said.  Glancing around him, Harold took a
step closer.  The slug reared up on its back end, baring teeth slightly and
Harold stopped.  God, the slug was paranoid.  He’d better say what he had to
say and get the hell out of dodge before Donald decided to pop into the halfway
house for a visit. 

            “Cool it,” Harold
muttered, “I’ve got to tell you something.”

            The slug closed
its mouth but remained tense, regarding Harold with a suspicious
’I-don’t-know-what-you’re-thinking-but-it’d-better-not-include-an-angry-vampy-hissy-fit’
eye.

            “I kind of,”
Harold sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I followed Donald this morning
when he came to pick up your friend.”

            Silence.  The
slug rubbed at its radio collar with an eye.  “And,” Zork inquired skeptically.

            “It’s not good,”
Harold said.

            “Okay.”

            “I mean really
not good,” he repeated with emphasis. 

            “So spit it out
vampy.  I don't have a lot of free time around here,” the slug growled as it
went back to its poker game. 

            “Donald killed
your pal, Skellie,” Harold said.  “I think he’s been killing all of the group
members who ‘graduate’.”  He mimed air quotes around that word.

            There was a
distinct silence again from the slug.  The two zombies were also still as
death, but regarded him with the same wide eyes.  Harold asked Zork if it heard
him, if it understood.  He expected hissing, biting and perhaps a lot of blood,
maybe even a declaration of vengeance or two, but got nothing.  The slug adding
a couple of chips to its bet was not on the list of scenarios in Harold’s mind.

            “I heard.”  The
slug put down two cards and tapped them for new ones. 

            “Right,” Harold
said, picking up the trash bag, “Right, well, I’m getting the hell out of
dodge.  I figured you might want to as well.”

            Harold stepped
out of the room as Zork slapped a zombie repeatedly to get its attention, but
the zombies stared at Harold as he walked from the room, apparently deep in
contemplative thought. 

            Harold didn’t pay
attention to his surroundings as he walked from the house.  Otherwise, he would
have seen the place suddenly seemed quite empty.  Cleared out even, except for
the two zombies and the slug upstairs.  Zork’s reaction to the information
about Skellie surprised him.  Guess you couldn’t count on an alien to get
emotional about a human or even care about its own life.  The slug could rot for
all he cared about its safety. 

            Harold didn’t
notice Donald stepping out of the bushes in front of the house with a large
crossbow.  He did however, feel the arrow thud into his back, knocking him to
the ground, as well as the sudden blow to the back of his head, signaling
lights out.