Consumption

When I turned to look, the man in black was already disappearing into the shadows that my spotlight-blinded eyes couldn’t pierce.

More importantly, the girl behind me hung there, no longer balancing on the tips of her toes, perhaps hoping that the pressure on the wrist restraints would stop the rivulets of blood that were rapidly trickling down toward her armpits. Judging by the rhythmic nature of the crimson streams leaking from the long gashes on her forearms, it wouldn’t matter.

As much as anything, I wish that I could say that I saved that girl. I wish that I could say that I called in the cavalry and Maria, David, MJ, Badger, Carter, and fifty Mexican National Guard soldiers swarmed the building.

But I didn’t.

Part of me still tries to rationalize what I did: the girl was dying; there was no way of stopping the bleeding from those wounds without complex medical intervention; I needed to survive and this was the only way.

But, the truth is, I gave in to the thirst.

Unlike the previous times that I had fed, I went for the traditional bite location. My upper fangs dug into her trapezius, while my lower fangs tore through the array of muscles in the front. Clamping my jaws closed I rent her flesh with surprising ease, allowing me to lock my lips around the wound in what David would later describe as, “El beso de la muerte.”

It was only after I stepped back that I remembered the girl’s name, Selena. At least, she had been a girl, certainly not older than Mira. Now, what hung before me was just a lifeless body… a corpse….

When I turned back to the audience, they were mercifully silent. So, I stood there, Selena’s lifeblood dripping off my chin and splattering on my chest.