By Lucas Mangum
From where she and Matthew stood, Nessa couldn't tell who attacked first. She clutched Matthew's hand. She hoped it wasn't someone from their side. This was supposed to be a peaceful demonstration. No heckling the police. No throwing things. No violence of any kind. She and the others had gathered to protest the escalating violence of the war between the so-called normal humans and those who had changed as a result of the Ice Virus. She hated the slurs "beats" and "bloods." She hoped her movement would remind the rest of the world that those affected by the virus were still human.
Now, something had gone horribly wrong.
Through the verses of Lennon's "Imagine," someone screamed. The pain in the cry was unmistakable. Angry curses filled the air in Greek and English. Nessa turned just in time to see a stream of pepper spray splash into a young woman's eyes. A man wearing fatigues tackled the offending policeman, throwing punches that cracked the officer's face guard.
"No," Nessa shouted. "Stop it."
Police and protesters collided. Nessa smelled pepper spray and blood. She didn't crave blood the way some of the others did. The violence associated with the iron smell nauseated her. Whenever she had to feed, it was on the blood of animals. Now, eating was the furthest thing from her mind. A protester stumbled backward as an officer struck him. He crashed into Nessa and Matthew, separating them.
The offending officer faced Nessa and pointed, "You see her tongue? She's a blood!"
Another officer rushed her and tackled her to the ground, spittle flying from his teeth as he cursed her in Greek.
"Matthew," Nessa cried. "Matthew, help."
The officer cracked his club across her face and blood filled her mouth. He tore at her blouse, tearing open the front and exposing her small breasts. She tried to squirm out from under him, but his weight kept her pinned. She scanned her surroundings for Matthew or anyone who could help her. More weight pressed against her now bare shoulders as another officer helped hold her down. The first officer leaned back and started to unbuckle his belt. She couldn’t believe this was happening, how fast things had gotten out of control. She kicked at the officer undoing his pants and clawed at the one holding her shoulders. The first officer pulled his penis out and she screamed again, feeling her throat shred.
Where was Matthew? Was he restrained? Why couldn’t anyone help her?
Her fingernails scraped against the face of the officer holding her shoulders, just beneath the riot mask. He cried out and cursed. Her vision went white as another blow from a nightstick connected with her skull. The commotion now sounded muffled, as if it was coming from a television with the sound turned down low. Blackness closed upon her from all sides and she welcomed it.
#
Nessa sat with her shoulders slumped as she stared at her pale, bruised hands. Her head and torso throbbed from where the so-called Peace Officers had beaten her with their clubs and boots. Her tongue pressed against a loose molar, again filling her mouth with blood. She swallowed. Hunger pains stabbed at the lining of her stomach.
Above, a dirty halogen bulb cast dim illumination upon her surroundings. She sat at a long gray table. The room around her was a featureless steel cube, except for the wall to her right, which was equipped with a two-way mirror. In the upper corner, a red dot shined, indicating that the closed circuit camera fixed on her was indeed recording.
Though unsure what her captors had planned for her, she knew she would never be heard from again. Gone were the days of due process. If the Greek government (or any government, for that matter) deemed you a threat to national security, you disappeared forever. That was the new way of the world.
Especially if you were a vampire.
She tried to imagine dying. A scary thought, but far scarier when she considered the cruelty of her captors thus far. If they were capable of beating her and her fellow protesters within inches of their lives and leaving her in this room to rot, they would likely ensure her final moments would be filled with agony. She'd heard stories about mobs of untrained gunmen stringing up her kind by the wrists or ankles and shooting them in places that guaranteed a slow death.
Maybe she'd signed on for this when she'd organized the protests in Syntagma Square, but her strong belief in the immorality of the V-Wars did nothing to quell her anxiety. She feared the pain, and the mystery of what awaited a creature like her. Even more than fear she felt sadness. Her protest movement had given her many friends and admirers who she would never see again. Worse, she hadn't been given the opportunity to say goodbye to them.
She longed, above all, to see Matthew. To know he had escaped. To touch his face. To kiss his lips. To revel in the way he looked at her like she was some kind of heroine for this new, dark age. She loved him and hoped he knew it, even if she'd never told him. She'd never let him all the way in because of who she was. Yes, a vampire, a lamia more specifically, but also a crusader who loved trying to make the world a better place far more than she could ever love a romantic partner.
God, she was hungry. Did they intend to starve her? That was cruel, even for her government.
A grinding sound reverberated through the room as a section of steel wall opened toward her. She stared into the black shadow of the entryway and waited to see who would step through. She narrowed her eyes and concentrated her strength into her hands, balling them into fists. A desire to fight whoever came through that door surged through her. She could feed and maybe the rush from the blood could provide her with enough strength to escape.
A fantasy, she thought. She had never been violent. She had never fed upon a human either. Her apartment in Athens had plenty of rats to sustain her. Still, she had felt a violent urge when the door opened, a hunger for blood and violence that had both surprised her and reminded her of what a frightened animal must feel like when it knows a threat is near. Perhaps the rats she feeds upon feel the same way in those final moments before her barbed tongue pierces their flesh.
The first man to walk through the door wore a black coat and tie. His hair was slicked tight against his skull and his eyes reminded her of stone. He crossed his arms over his slender chest and stared at her, his expression emotionless.
More footsteps proceeded from the darkness. A man wearing military fatigues and carrying an assault rifle entered the room. Behind him, a man in handcuffs with a black hood over his head staggered forward, pushed ahead by another soldier.
"What is this?" Nessa said.
The soldier herding the prisoner into the room shut the door behind him and kicked out the prisoner's leg. The prisoner gave a muffled grunt of pain and fell to one knee.
Nessa looked from the prisoner to the soldiers to the man wearing the tie. No one said a word. They only watched her.
"What the hell is going on?" Nessa said.
The soldier standing behind the prisoner raised his rifle and rammed the butt of it into the back of the prisoner's head. Nessa jolted as the prisoner fell to the floor. All thoughts of hunger vanished. She only felt confusion and fear.
The soldier who had knocked out the prisoner smirked at her. He was young, good-looking, with boyish skin and light blue eyes. It made his cruelty all the more worse to observe. She wondered if he'd been one of the men who had beaten her on the street.
The well-dressed man turned to exit the room and the soldiers followed, leaving the prisoner unconscious on the floor.
Nessa tried not to think about how hungry she was.
Or how easy it would be to feed.
#
The seconds crawled by as Nessa sat on the cold chair staring down at the crumpled, unconscious form before her. If not for his ragged breathing, she would have believed him dead.
Nessa's pulse throbbed in time with the hunger. The pains came more frequently and with increased intensity.
She wondered how much longer she could hold out.
She could sense the prisoner's blood as it pumped through his veins.
She licked her lips, tried to ignore the craving. The idea of taking a human life revolted her, but she thought that in a life or death situation, it might be necessary. She didn't think such a scenario would make feeding on a person morally correct. It would still make her a monster.
Why had they provided her with a human food source? Did they want her to feed? Why? What the hell did they want from her?
She shut her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples. She tried to focus on breathing. When her eyes opened again, she examined the unconscious prisoner. She wondered again if she could feed in an increasingly dire situation.
She doubted it. Though three years had passed since she had started manifesting the lamia characteristics, she still considered herself human. That was why she was able to empathize with people so well, why she worked so hard to restore peace.
But she had never been in a situation where her survival depended on drinking the blood of a person. Maybe if it came down to her or some anonymous prisoner, she could bring herself to feed on human blood. Again, she became aware of her throbbing pulse and aching hunger.
She shut her eyes. No, she thought. I won't do it.
Nessa opened her eyes and got up from her chair. She knelt beside the unconscious man. The beat of his heart pounded between her ears, drowning out all other sound. His sweet heart, pumping the vibrant source of his life. Probably much more satisfying than rat's blood.
She reached down and took hold of the black hood. She yanked it off and gasped. The face beneath the hood was angular and covered with a thick beard. A straight white scar split the skin above the prisoner's right eyebrow. His dirty blond hair was splayed across the floor.
Nessa backed away and breathed his name.
"Matthew."
#
Nessa had met Matthew Crowder after he had seen one of her flyers hanging outside the University Club Building. Before organizing had been banned from their campuses. He'd arrived almost half an hour early to the meeting held at her flat near the University of Economics and Business. He'd held a coffee cup in both hands and shivered from the cold outside.
She had first greeted him in Greek and he blushed.
"Hi," she'd said, switching to English. "What's your name?"
"Matthew Crowder."
"Nice to meet you, Matthew Crowder. Why do you want to protest the V-Wars?" She asked every newcomer that.
Matthew blushed and dropped his eyes. "I don't know. I mean, I don't like the way things are going in the world, but really, I'm kind of hoping to make some friends."
She smiled. "I have to admire your honesty. I'm Nessa. I can be your friend. Your accent, are you American?"
"Guilty."
"You were on the front lines. Michael Fayne, Luther Swann, Hell Night."
"You say it like that's something to be excited about."
"You can't affect change by crying on Tumblr about the bad shit happening halfway across the world. You can only do that by getting out and demanding change, and you can only do that in the trenches."
"Seems like every country has trenches these days."
"A sad truth, for sure. I hope to change that."
"You really think we can make a difference?"
"Not with that attitude." She gave him a gentle nudge. "The idea is to be so big, they can no longer ignore us. They'll have no choice but to stop fighting and listen."
Matthew shifted from foot to foot, an uncomfortable expression on his face.
"What is it?"
"You're a…"
"A vampire. Yes. Specifically, a lamia. A Greek version of the vampire, but don't let that scare you. The legends about eating children are just that. Legends. Probably made up to make people fear us."
"But you do drink blood, right?"
"Never human. I don't think I could."
A mischievous look crossed his face. "What if someone was willing?"
She laughed. "Are you hitting on me?"
He shrugged. His face went red again. "I didn't mean…"
"Relax," she said. "And to answer your question, I don't even think I could eat a willing victim. The idea of taking another life really upsets me."
I have a hard enough time killing the rats, she almost said, but didn't want to reveal that unpleasant part of herself so early in a friendship, especially if later it would turn into more than a friendship. He was kind of cute, after all, even if he was reserved and not as passionate about ending the violence as she was.
More people filed in, mostly people she recognized, but some she didn't. She expected more people would come as the weeks went by, partly because of word of mouth, but also because there was a lot to be angry about. All around the world, people were being thrown into prison, harassed, and even killed just because they were considered different. There were even some cases of normal humans running into trouble with the law for simply associating with vampires. For the longest time, this was strictly America's problem. Now, it was everywhere. The governments of the world finally had something to agree on: to wipe her kind from existence.
She said all of this as she stood before the crowd.
"We have to come together," she said. "Beat, blood. This affects us all, and if we don't stand up for ourselves, it's only going to get worse. We'll assemble, peacefully, and we won't back down until the violence comes to an end."
As she spoke, Matthew looked at her with admiration in his eyes. She could tell by how he zoned in on her every word that he believed in her and knew she was special. Because of this, she'd fallen in love with him so easily.
#
Matthew stirred at the sound of Nessa's voice. She stepped back to give him some room. He coughed and brought his face up to meet hers. Even in the low light, his blue eyes were bright.
"Nessa. Where are we?"
"They took us and locked us up, but I'm not sure where."
"Why'd they put us together?"
"I think they want me to eat you."
He grimaced and for a second she thought he would throw up. "Why?"
"I don't know," she said. She slumped to the ground and balled her hands into fists. She tried to ignore the hunger pains.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Of course not."
"Think they'll kill us?"
"Eventually. Probably."
He put his head down and a tremor shuddered through him. "I don't want to die."
Her gut reaction surprised her. In spite of her love for him, she thought maybe he was weak. She had always thought that she would die like this, imprisoned and silenced for standing up for something. He had simply protested out of love for her, to impress her, and now that they had arrived at an obstacle, he was scared. But the more she thought about it, she couldn't blame him. The more she thought about the likelihood of her death, fear, like a sentient black hole, spread through her, devouring every bit of courage she had left.
"I don't either," she said and put her arms around him. She wanted to say more, but couldn't find the words. Telling him not to be afraid would do little to ease him. Several beats passed between them. "We're together now. Let's just be grateful for that."
He tightened his arms around her. His heart throbbed. She licked her lips.
#
Their first date had been a hike up Lykavittos Hill. Early on their journey up the wooded path, he took her hand. Maybe his advance had been premature and a bit presumptuous, but she found it endearing and smiled at him. Part of her thought that maybe he touched her so early to prove to himself that he wasn't afraid of her, even though she knew he was.
"I've never actually met a blood," he explained to her as they ascended. "There were some in my hometown, but I never… well, I never spoke to them. You're nothing like what I expected. You're so…"
"Normal?"
"Well, no. I actually think you're kind of extraordinary."
She smiled at that.
"I couldn't get up there and talk like that. Public speaking makes me nervous."
"It's easy when you believe in something."
"I have beliefs," he said. "Doesn't mean I'm comfortable announcing them to the world."
"What do you believe, Matthew?"
"I believe—I don't know. Moments like this are important. People getting to know people."
"And?"
"I don't know. I feel like there's a lot I haven't figured out."
"Like what?"
"Like why is this all even happening?"
"People are afraid. They feel threatened."
"Don't you feel like they should be? Not all vampires are peace-loving hippies like you." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. She got the impression this was something he thought a lot about. The fact that there were multiple sides to everything played a lot into his worldview.
"Just because people should be afraid doesn't give them the right to be violent. Violence only breeds more violence. It's up to us to demand meaningful dialogue between world leaders, blood and beat alike. It's not going to be easy, but eventually if enough people on both sides refuse to act violently, then we'll put an end to this nonsense."
"You honestly believe that? I mean, police beat the shit out of protesters on a daily basis, no matter how peaceful the assembly is."
"Like I said, it's not going to be easy. It certainly isn't going to happen overnight."
"Think you'll live to see it?"
A light breeze whispered through the leaves. She shrugged. "Not sure if that matters."
Matthew shook his head. "I couldn't imagine not living to see how I impact the world."
"I can only hope that I'm working for something meaningful. I think that's enough for me."
He smiled at her. "You sure are fascinating."
"I bet you think you're smooth."
"Not at all, actually." He looked away.
They reached the peak and sat down in front of the church of Saint George. The buildings of the city sprawled below them before giving way to the blue ocean.
"It's humbling, isn't it?" she said. "I used to come up here as a kid with my family, but I don't remember much of that. I came up here again, after the change. I wanted to get as far away from the world I knew as possible and be alone. I was scared. I didn't know what to expect. I only knew about vampires from the movies. I thought I was going to be a monster."
He gulped and looked over the horizon. For the first time since meeting him, he seemed to be somewhere else.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked.
He blinked as if coming to after being sedated and shook his head. "Nothing. I just… I'm trying to imagine what it was like."
Nessa stared across the horizon, remembering how her vegan diet had stopped satisfying her, how she had felt a constant thirst, how she had read all the legends and worried that she would turn into the type of creature that would prey on children, and the first time she stuck her pronged tongue into a live rat. It had squirmed and shrieked as she drained its life. As someone who had spent six years of her life not eating meat, it had horrified her. She had vomited and cried afterward.
The more she fed, she noticed an increase in her vitality. Her dark hair grew even thicker and started to shine. Her skin and eye color deepened. She had grown powerful. While she hated killing the rats, she had quickly learned that she couldn't live without live prey. It was either the rodents or people.
Matthew put an arm around her. "You don't have to tell me everything yet. I'm just curious."
She offered him a smile and returned her gaze to the city below. She imagined it engulfed in flames.
#
The man in black who had eyes like stone reentered the room, accompanied by another soldier wearing dark fatigues and carrying an assault rifle. Nessa narrowed her eyes at him. Matthew turned around. When he saw the two men step inside, he got to his feet.
"What the fuck is this? You can't keep us here. I'm a fucking American. You know what kind of shit you'll get into for holding me."
The man in black smiled, baring polished teeth, and turned to the soldier. The soldier smirked. A laugh escaped his lips.
"What? This is funny to you? I want a goddamn phone call."
Nessa felt something like a lead ball in the pit of her stomach. Of course Matthew's threats were funny to them. Whatever would happen in this room would happen off the books. Matthew had yet to understand that.
The man in black looked at Nessa and mumbled something in Greek.
"What did he say?" Matthew asked.
"He said you're not getting any phone call."
"Well, you tell him…"
The man cut him off with more words in Greek. Matthew looked to Nessa for translation.
"And he said if you don't shut up, he's going to have you shot."
Matthew's bottom lip trembled. A whirlwind of mixed emotions blew across his face: fear, panic, rage, despair.
Don't say anything else. Please, don't say anything else.
Though he couldn't hear her thoughts, he heeded their warnings.
The man in black set his stone eyes upon Nessa. "When was the last time you fed?"
She said nothing.
The man in black nodded at the soldier who walked over and smacked her across the face. Matthew opened his mouth to protest, but the soldier flashed him a look that said don't even think about it.
"I asked you a question," he said.
"I don't know. I lost track of time. It's been a while."
"You're hungry, aren't you?"
She nodded.
"So why don't you feed?" He gestured to Matthew.
She shook her head, too distraught to form words.
"Your name is Nessa Sgouros. You think of yourself as some kind of peace activist. You used to cut school to take part in the protests organized by the Direct Democracy Now! movement back in 2011. You've been a problem for our government for a while and that was only made worse when you became a blood. Now you think you're, what, going to stop the escalation of this conflict?"
She didn't answer the rhetorical question and braced for a blow from the soldier. No strike came and the man in black continued.
"Between the four of us, I'll admit that I admire you, Nessa. You have strong beliefs and you stand up for them with little to no regard to your physical well-being."
"If you admire me, if you respect me, why don't you stand with me? Why can't you see this is all wrong? I've never harmed anyone. A lot of us have never harmed anyone."
The soldier raised his hand to strike, but the man in black shook his head.
"I said I admire you. I didn't say I agree with you." He bent close to her. "I despise your kind. You're an aberration. All of you. And I have just as little respect for people who stand with creatures like you."
For his last sentence, he glared at Matthew. He narrowed his eyes and tightened his jaw. Nessa thought he would order the soldier to shoot Matthew where he stood, just out of the pure hatred for a beat who had dared stand side by side with a blood. He returned his eyes to Nessa.
"What I admire is your tenacity. Your dedication. Because of that, I'm willing to let you live."
"I don't care about dying," she said. "You can silence me, but you can't silence what I've started."
"I'll even let you go," he said. "But first, you have to feed."
"I won't."
"You will. You can only go so long without human blood."
"I've never fed from another human."
"If you drink from Matthew, I'll let you go and you can go back to demonstrating against this worldwide conflict. Maybe you'll change some minds out there. It's doubtful, but you'll have a much better chance doing it out there than in here."
The man in black turned toward the door and left with the soldier in tow. Nessa and Matthew exchanged glances. Matthew's eyes were wide with fear. Nessa reached for him and he flinched.
"It's okay," she said. "I'm not going to eat you."
The tip of her tongue throbbed as the barb tried to force its way through. She shut her eyes and tried not to think about anything.
#
The night before the protest in Syntagma Square, Nessa and Matthew returned to Lykavittos. The city below was illuminated, looking like thousands of candles burning in the dark. They sat beside each other on the ledge, the lit-up church behind them. She put an arm around him.
"You ready for this?" she asked.
"Yeah, I'm excited. Well, maybe that's the wrong word."
"It's a huge commitment. We could be out there for days. Maybe even weeks."
"I know. I'm with you." He kissed her. It wasn't the first time he had, but this time it felt bigger, like it sealed some kind of deal, and she knew she had a real partner in this. He pulled away slightly and whispered, "I promise."
She returned the kiss, running her hands through his hair, plunging her tongue into his mouth. He pulled away.
"The barb. Will it stay inside?"
She giggled. "Of course."
"I read that the lamia sometimes seduce men so that they're easier to feed off of."
"I would never do anything to hurt you," she said and he nodded.
They resumed the kiss and fell into each other, shaking off their clothes and caressing each other's exposed skin. Waves of pleasure tingled across Nessa's body as Matthew kissed and touched. He was gentle, almost vulnerable, as they made love.
When it was over, he rolled off of her, sat up, and wept. She placed a hand on his back.
"What is it?"
He shook his head.
"You can tell me," she said. "Are you afraid about tomorrow?"
"That's not it. I just… I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you."
"I don't know what you're talking about, Matthew."
"In the States, I got into a lot of trouble. I did a lot of dumb things."
She cocked her head and waited for him to continue.
"I'm not the nice guy you think I am."
She brushed the hair out of his eyes. "Matthew, I don't care about your past. We all have one. I'm sure whatever it is can't be that bad."
Nessa saw his face go a shade paler. She took his hands. "You don't have to tell me now, but just know this: I know you love me. I know you believe in me. You have no idea how much that means, having someone to stand by me during all of this. It means the world to me."
He smiled and nodded, but the color didn't return to his face. Below them, the lights in the city continued to burn.
#
Nessa thought of that night now, as she sat in the cold metal chamber. Weak. Starving. Her body a throbbing canvas of pain. She cast a glare up at the security camera above and hoped whoever was watching could see she still had the strength to hate them.
Half an hour ago, Matthew had started to cry. He'd talked about how much he missed his mother. How he wished he and his father could reconcile after years of estrangement. How he wished he was back home with friends. Worst of all, he kept apologizing. It was as if he believed these feelings to be a betrayal of sorts. For a while, Nessa had cooed at him and told him it was okay, but gave up when it stopped working.
She thought of his words that night they made love. I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you. I'm not the nice guy you think I am.
By standing with her and going to prison with her, he had proven to her otherwise. He did deserve her. He deserved her love. He was more wonderful than he believed himself to be.
Nessa stared at the door willing it to magically open, so she and Matthew could escape together. She hated to give in to flights of fancy, but she was running out of hope. She even thought about praying, but why would a God that had let the whole world become a heap of shit move mountains to help her. She had never really believed in God. Her parents had raised her religiously, but she had never really bought it, and didn't think they really did either. Later her father had told her that the only reason they had raised her that way was so that she knew the option was there if she wanted it, not because they were religious. Any possibility of her changing her mind died the day she became a vampire. Not because she felt like she had been dealt a bad hand, but because she knew that her evolution and that of many others would only cause more conflict in an already deeply divided world. No God worth worshipping would allow such chaos.
Nessa drifted out of her thoughts and focused on Matthew. He was still crying.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry I got you into this."
He shook his head. "No, you don't understand. Doing this was the only thing worth doing. The only thing that could make it right."
His choice of words struck her.
"Make what right?"
He averted his eyes and said nothing.
"Matthew…"
He took a breath, leaned against the wall, and cursed. She stared at him, waited for him to talk. The anticipation made her want to scream.
"Back in the States, I lived in a town called Flint just outside of Tyler, Texas."
Nessa tried to recall if she had heard of the town before. She couldn't place it. Matthew continued.
"There was this group of guys I used to hang out with. I'd known them since high school, and when I came home between semesters at UT Austin, it was always a big event. You know, lots of drinking, getting into fights, talking about old times. I wasn't much for starting fights, but I stuck up for my friends if they needed help. Just what friends do." Matthew took a breath that strained his features. "The last time I came home, before I left to study here, was at the height of the violence in America. Things were starting to look like they weren't going to get any better, like the world was getting ready to tear itself apart. Kind of still feels that way."
As he spoke, a sinking feeling that overpowered every other sensation overtook Nessa. Even the hunger paled in comparison.
"You hurt someone," she said.
Matthew's lips drooped and Nessa thought he was going to cry again.
"One of my neighbors in Flint, Marshall Pratt, was a school teacher, a husband, and a father. A real nice guy. Always around to lend a hand. Active in his church, which didn't impress me any, but in my town something like that mattered to people. I don't know exactly what kind of vampire he turned into, but he sent his wife and kids away as soon as the change took place. He believed himself to be turning into something spawned straight out of Hell. He stopped going to church. Apparently going scared him really bad. I know crosses and holy water don't really have an effect on vampires, but I think his religious background made him feel incredible guilt whenever he was near a place of worship.
"So this night I'm home, my friends are telling me all of this and we're getting drunk. The whole time, all I'm thinking is that whenever you turn on the TV, you're hearing about bloods killing beats. I asked if Marshall has killed anyone. My friend, Wallace, he says he can't prove anything, but he thinks so. There was a little girl who disappeared and the rumor around town was that she had last been seen around his yard. One of us suggests we do something to stop him, and… Christ, it was really bad."
"Stop," Nessa said. "I don't think I want to hear any more."
"I'm so fucking sorry."
"Just tell me this: did you actually participate in whatever your friends did?"
Matthew took another strained breath. He shook his head.
"No, I didn't do anything. I guess that's what feels worst of all."
Nessa tried to get her composure. She was so hungry she felt sick. The barb poked from the tip of her tongue and prodded the back of her teeth. She trembled with anxiety and anger. The image of Matthew looking on with his hands in his pockets as his friends beat an innocent man to death haunted her mind's eye like a ghostly impression on an old photograph.
"Nessa," Matthew said and reached for her.
She backed away. "Just don't."
#
Matthew's thoughts drifted to the night Marshall Pratt was murdered. He rode in the back of Wallace's F-150. A shotgun was laid across the floor. All four boys held forty-ounce bottles of Old English in various stages of consumption.
As the truck pulled up to Pratt's home, Matthew's skin grew hot. The reality of what he and the others planned to do now felt unavoidable, as if two strong hands had him in their clutches and were forcing him forward to his violent destiny.
Wallace had barely brought his truck to a stop when he pushed his door open and jumped out. He was a shorter guy, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in muscle. He was the kind of guy who spent hours at the gym every day and supplemented his meals with protein shakes. He was also the leader, an aggressive alpha male who liked having people fight alongside him.
Nathan, who they called Nudge, stepped out next, already huffing and puffing from the effort. Since graduating high school and not having football or track to keep him in shape, he had really let himself go. Only thing he was good for in a fight was holding someone down while the others threw punches.
Bradford rounded out the group. He had all the muscle of Wallace and half the brains. He shouted Pratt's name and Wallace silenced him with a slap across the back of the head. He responded with a giggle.
Matthew was last to leave the truck, dreading every step closer to Pratt's house, but feeling powerless to stop it. Something about being around these guys made him give up his autonomy. Maybe that was why he'd opted to go away to college and then go abroad to get his graduate degree. He had wanted to change and grow. His better angels screamed at him to turn and run, to forget this whole thing, but he could feel those hands, pushing him forward.
What happened next Matthew would later recall in every nightmare. Every time he witnessed violence after that night, whether in film or in person, he would seize up, feel nauseous, and have difficulty breathing. It happened during the protest as the police turned on him and the other demonstrators. Ironic that during a day he stood up for justice, he would recall a time that he took part in such cruelty.
Nudge flung his considerable bulk against Pratt's front door. It fell in against his weight with a crash. There was a scream from inside and the rest of the boys scrambled through the door. Pratt was sitting in an easy chair, with a leather-bound book resting in his hands. Matthew thought it may have been a Bible. Before Pratt could make another sound, Nudge rushed him, tackling him to the floor. Pratt's skull connected to the hardwood with a wet crack.
Bradford started to laugh. He stood over Pratt, who was pinned to the ground, blood soaking his hair, fear swimming in his eyes. Bradford punched him in the nose over and over, laughing the whole time.
Wallace started in with the punches as well while Nudge continued to keep Pratt vulnerable. At no point did Pratt's eyes flare red. At no point did he display superior strength or speed. At no point did he come off as a monster.
Matthew's three friends hoisted the broken man to his feet and held him against the wall in cruciform. Wallace turned to Matthew.
"Come on, man," he said. "You're missing all the fun."
Matthew examined Pratt for any sign that he was something other than human, that he was a creature that deserved some kind of punishment. Pratt's eyes pleaded. His mouth hung open, leaking drool and blood. Matthew could see something like fangs between Pratt's lips, but even those made the man look more pathetic than scary.
"Hey, Matt," Bradford said between laughs, "don't be such a pussy."
Nudge had let go and was starting to break the legs off the coffee table. He held up the sharp end of one and grinned like a mad dog.
"Matthew," Wallace said. "What are you waiting for, man? Get your shots in before we stake him."
Something broke inside Matthew. He's a monster, he told himself. He probably killed Alice Crane.
Matthew laid into Pratt with everything he had, driving his fists into the man's face and body. The blows bloodied his knuckles and stung his hands. He screamed as he attacked, letting hate take hold. Not hate for Pratt. He didn't even think of Pratt. Matthew only thought of how much he hated his fucking town and everyone in it. Wallace, Nudge, and Bradford, his parents, himself. This was the end. He was never going home again. In the rush of violence, the beer wore off and he was forced to feel the full brunt of his self-loathing. Beating the shit out of someone else had only worsened it.
He ran out into the truck and closed himself inside. As more commotion came from inside Pratt's house, he examined the shotgun at his feet and contemplated using it on himself.
#
Nessa raised her head as the door to the cell opened. The well-dressed man entered, accompanied by a soldier. She couldn't tell if it was the same one from before. She was too exhausted. Too hungry.
"You're salivating," the well-dressed man said. She wiped at her chin. "Why won't you feed? Do you want to starve to death?"
He got close to her and the soldier raised his weapon, no doubt to make sure she didn't try anything funny.
"Do you know what happens to a body when it starves to death? Do you know how painful it is? How long it takes for your body to cannibalize itself?"
"You won't let me starve. There's a reason you’re keeping me alive. There's a reason you want me to feed on him. Isn't there?"
The well-dressed man said nothing.
"I'm not stupid. I know you won't kill me, and I know you won't let me starve. So, why not? Why do you want me to feed?"
Nessa looked from the man in the suit to the soldier. Their expressions betrayed nothing. She looked to Matthew for guidance, but he looked shriveled and weak as he knelt in the middle of the room. He hadn't eaten in as long as she had. Maybe longer. Her eyes found the camera, staring down at her from the corner of the room.
"You need to record it, don't you?" The soldier tightened his jaw. "You want to get me on film eating someone I love so you can—what? Show the rest of the world what a monster I am? That my movement isn't worth supporting? Well, you can just forget it. I won't do it."
The well-dressed man looked at Matthew. "We heard what you told her. You didn't tell her that your friends staked that blood. Impaled him like he was a Hollywood vampire."
"I didn't do it," Matthew said.
"But you could've gone to the police. You could've done a lot more."
"Are you kidding?" Nessa said. "The police probably would've given his friends medals for doing it. They're fascists over there just like you over here. No one cares if you haven't hurt anyone or won't hurt anyone. They only care that you're different, and because you're different you're a threat."
"We didn't know that Pratt never hurt anyone. That's why I went along."
Nessa glared at him. She crossed the room and got in his face. "Matthew, you said you didn't actually hurt him. That it was just them. Was that true?"
He opened his mouth to answer, but his words caught in his throat. He dropped his eyes and gave a grim sigh.
"Matthew."
"It doesn't matter anymore. Whether I hurt him or didn't do anything to stop them from hurting him, I'm just as guilty."
"It makes a huge difference. It's one thing to stand and watch, but another entirely to participate."
He raised his eyes. Tears streamed from them. He didn't have to answer for her to put together that he had actively taken part in Pratt's death. The urge to kill him came suddenly and strongly. He had known her nature and knew what kind of person she was, and yet had led her on. He'd made her believe he was good when he wasn't. She looked down to see she had him by the throat.
"Kill me," he said. "Otherwise you'll die down here."
Gone from his eyes was the childlike fear that had been there when he'd first joined her in the cell. Instead, she saw a strange peace, as if now that this ugly secret had been revealed, he no longer carried its burden. Or maybe he wanted to die by her hand, out of some strange final act of love. Her tongue snaked out between her lips. The barb stabbed at the air. She almost forgot about the well-dressed man and the soldier. She almost forgot the camera.
She retracted the barb and let Matthew go. She backed away from him and faced the well-dressed man.
"No. I won't do it. I won't let you make me a monster." Even as she said it, a fury burned in her veins. The beast they wanted her to be itched for release. "I won't do it."
The well-dressed man nodded at her. He nodded at the soldier who raised his rifle and fired.
Nessa watched as Matthew's face exploded in a cloud of red. The screams tore their way out of Nessa and they didn't stop.
The well-dressed man's face hardened as his eyes stabbed into Nessa. "You'll never get out of here now, and without you, your movement will die."
Nessa dwelt on his icy words. The image of her lover's face blown off played in her head on repeat. He had sinned, but she had loved him and believed that he was truly remorseful for what he had done. The men who had killed him would never feel remorse. They were faceless drones of a system that had plunged the world into chaos. She thought about the camera. It had recorded them killing a beat in cold blood. She needed that tape.
As the well-dressed man turned to exit, Nessa leapt onto his back. Her tongue shot out of her mouth, its barbed tip plunging into the well-dressed man's throat. She drank. She drank and savored it. Too determined and psychically wounded to think of the moral implications of what she was doing. That all paled in comparison to her need to get that tape, to make the horrors of the day count for something. She drank in the man's life, felt it surge through her, sending hot tremors through her veins.
The soldier turned, seeming to just realize what had happened, and aimed his rifle at her. She pulled her face away from the suit's throat and howled. She used him as a shield and pushed him into the soldier. The gunfire went wild. She jumped over the suit and pinned the soldier to the wall. Rage unlike any she had ever felt boiled inside her. She felt alive, more alive than anytime she had given an impassioned speech, or made love, or the time she ran a marathon when she was seventeen.
"Where's the camera room?"
The soldier sputtered, and it came out gibberish. She reached down and, with strength she didn't know she had, snapped his forearm. A high-pitched shriek burst from his lungs.
"Shut up and tell me."
"Up the st-stairs. To the left."
She wanted to drink him, to make him pay for Matthew's death. No time. She broke his arm in another place and sprinted toward the stairs. Two more soldiers were waiting. She ducked and drove her shoulders at their knees. Newfound strength propelled her forward, knocking the human barriers aside. She heard screaming and realized it was her own.
She kicked open a door at the end of the hall and found the camera equipment. She found the drive and ejected it. With the drive in her hand, she made for the hallway. She wondered where she was. Some abandoned building. This had been a small operation, isolated in case something went wrong. It wouldn't stay small, though. More would come now that she had broken out. She could hear one of the soldiers calling into his radio for backup.
Nessa ran down the hallway, opening doors, trying to find the exit. She turned down another hallway, heard guns firing behind her. The fuel given her by the well-dressed man's blood pushed her until she found the right door.
A monster, she thought as she ran into the night clutching the drive to her chest, a necessary monster.