Part One:
Killer
God she is beautiful. So beautiful. She doesn’t even see me standing here, watching. Her lips are so full, wrapped around its neck like that.
Sumptuous.
Delicious.
I need her.
Cold, glacial eyes see me and widen.
I lift my hand and give her a tiny wave.
The body falls to the ground at her feet as she lifts a hand, waving back at me.
I need her.
I can almost taste her skin, feel her silken flesh beneath my killer’s hands.
I don’t feel. I never have. I don’t know what it feels to be sad, or happy. I don’t experience loneliness or anger, regret or conscious. Those things were expendable, anyway.
But she’s not.
She’s a killer just like me.
Immortal
Who is that? And why is he staring at me like that? How could he have just watched me drain a body dry and still look at me like that?
Who is this man?
I waved back at him, wondering if I should run or stay. He looked almost excited to see me. Why would a man be excited to see a killer? A vampire?
I wipe my mouth on my sleeve, hoping no blood gave me away.
Either he didn’t see the body drop to the ground after I’d finished, or he is blind.
Maybe he is blind and my secret is safe?
I had to find out.
Stepping over the body in the woods, I approach.
“Who are you?” I ask him. “What’s your name?”
“Hi,” he breathes, his eyes focus on me.
He isn’t answering my questions, but I know already. I know why he looks at me like that. Looking back into his eyes, I see what’s missing.
His soul.
He is the kind without a soul.
Psychopath, sociopath, whatever. I understand him. I’m one too.
“Hi,” I finally breathe back, observing his face.
He is handsome. Extraordinarily so.
Why would God waste a body like this, just to be an empty shell?
“I was watching you,” he says finally, putting out a hand as if to touch me but changing his mind and clasping it with his other behind his back. “You’re a killer too.”
I nod.
“Why do you kill?” I ask him, needing to know.
“My insides tell me to. It’s the closest thing to happiness I get.”
Ah, I see.
“I kill to survive,” I whisper. “I don’t like it, but I have to.”
“I need you,” he says matter of factly. “I need you…”
“Why?”
“Because my insides tell me I need you.”
“What will you do to me?”
Will he kill me? The thought wasn’t actually a bad one.
“I need you,” he repeated before turning and running away through the woods, back into the town.
I’d chosen a small town in the middle of old time Europe for a reason. It is cold, damp, and I feel comfortable in the dark.
Will he rat me out? No. At least I hope he won’t.
Nevertheless, it won’t be the last time I see him.
Killer
A gift. I need to bring her a gift.
She’s a killer like me…what would she want?
I walk down the streets as I do every day, hiding who I truly am. Nobody knows that I am a killer. Nobody except her.
As the sun sets, I take my time choosing who I will gift to her.
A drunk man stumbles out of a bar and collapses on the ground.
Too easy. Where is the fun if not in the hunt?
A child’s laugh.
No. Not big enough.
Another man passes by me, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
Ah, he wants to die anyway.
I reach out and in one swift motion I snap his neck, body falling to the ground with a satisfying thud.
Yes, he will be a good present.
I put the body over my shoulder and walk through the dark woods to her home. I followed her that night. I know her home.
I’ve stood in her bedroom, I’ve smelled her sheets and I know the flavor of her toothpaste.
Climbing up the stairs, I plop the body in a chair before pinning the note I’d made onto it’s lapel.
You are beautiful. Maybe next time we can hunt together. Enjoy your dinner.
Love, Killer
She would understand.
I’m not great with love notes or thoughts of romance. I can’t even process it, let alone create it.
I climb back down until next time.
And there will be a next time.
Immortal
What the hell is a body doing in my bedroom? I look around but nothing. No one was here, but the scent of someone remains.
A hint of spice but a strong tinge of pine. The woods.
There’s a note on the body’s jacket. I pull it off and see it’s from him. Killer.
I smile.
Killer. I don’t even know his name, but a killer is wooing me. He even brought me dinner.
How I’m starving…
I drain the body before stashing it away, then I go back home and stare at the note a little longer.
His handwriting is nice. I wonder what a conversation with him would be like. I’ve never known someone like him before. I’ve been around for two hundred years, and usually the only people who become immortal like me go crazy and turn down the path to sociopathy.
It kind of comes with the territory.
Eventually you stop seeing people as people, but as food.
They are what keeps me alive, and to stay alive, I must kill.
The next night there is another body, then another body the night after. Each is lying in the same chair, a note attached to their chest.
It’s cute and a little endearing.
I want to see him again. See the brown, lifeless eyes, the young skin and tousled brown hair. I want to see his wide, inviting smile as he kills.
I’m sick. I know that. I’m under no illusions that I am normal or that I am right in the head. I am a vampire, a killer. I am an immortal.