Blood Rave

The deathly silence was stifling in the lonely passage. Ryder could not tear his eyes off the nude, prone form on the floor, a crippling mix of emotions and intoxication driving him at full speed towards temporary insanity. Vincent stared impassively down at him, only serving to make this situation all the more bizarre. The blond took a step forward, sliding the rice paper door closed on the gruesome hallway scene behind him.

It was as if Vincent’s steely gaze immobilised him, like a specimen pinned to a dissecting board. His dilated eyes took in the unreadable expression on the other man’s face and then made their way down to the bloodied torso. He blinked in confusion and rubbed at his eyes. He was sure he’d seen angry scratches alongside the sanguine splatters. There was no sign of them now, not even the faintest scratch. Had he been hallucinating? Possibly; he’d decided Christophe’s fangs had to be figments of his imagination: the product of a bad LSD trip. He’d have to apologise for the head trauma, providing he saw Christophe again.

Despite his poorly suppressed fear and unease, he found himself speaking, his voice shaky to even his own ears. “What the fuck did you do to her, man?”

“Most of the blood isn’t hers. You have nothing to worry about; she’s just passed out for the night,” Vincent casually replied.

Ryder got to his feet so quickly that he’d gotten dizzy, his back slamming noisily into a rice paper screen. “Why should I take your word for it?”

“You’re free to check on her for yourself. I certainly won’t try to stop you,” true to his word, he stepped aside.

A disgusted cringe settled on Ryder’s face as he stared at the puddle of blood on the floor, some of which had gotten onto the tail of his makeshift robe, and there was more where that came from behind door number one. Did he want to see more of the crimson fluid than he already had? No; absolutely not.

“What happened to her?” he enquired, his shoulders slumping in resignation.

“Two…” there was a brief pause as Vincent selected the most suitable words to use, “…men seduced her up here and decided to beat her around. Luckily, Beatrice found me before anything serious could happen. The blood is theirs.”

Ryder’s stomach churned unpleasantly as if trying its damnedest to make him vomit. “There’s so much blood… They can’t be in good shape after losing all that…”

As Vincent was about to speak, he was cut off by the newest addition to their conversation.

“Ha! It takes more than that to harm a vampire, cutie. Those punks will unfortunately be good as new in no time,” Beatrice laughed boisterously as she trotted over to them, dragging a mop in a plastic bucket behind her. The sterile scent of disinfectant permeated the still air. There was something quite peculiar about watching a woman in a shiny, green dress and four inch Mary Jane pumps mop blood off the floor, but even stranger was what she’d said.

…Vampires? Natalie was attacked by vampires? Was that why Vincent had chosen his words so carefully when mentioning her assailants? No, that couldn’t be right; it was simply impossible; vampires weren’t real, or at the very least that was what he’d been told from time immemorial. He’d never had a reason to think otherwise… until tonight. His mind immediately flashed back to his encounter with Christophe.

Beatrice stopped mopping and righted her posture, turning to Vincent with a puzzled expression. “What’s the matter with him? Looks like he’s going to faint and crack his skull on the floor. Just what I need: more wasted blood to clean up. Guess it’s a good thing I already have a mop, eh?” she laughed at her own joke as she wrung the soapy, red-tinted water out of the mop head.

“I believe he’s dumbstruck. He was unaware vampires were more than human invention before you waltzed in,” Vincent’s tone was completely void of emotion though he appeared tense, his eyes unblinking in their focus on Ryder’s face.

The receptionist’s back jerked ramrod straight as the realisation of what she’d done sank in.

“Oh. I had no idea! It’s just that he came here with Mr. Charlemagne earlier… I swore he knew…” she offered the blond a small, nervous, apologetic smile.

“He was with my cousin?” it was Vincent’s turn to be shocked. Even now, he wasn’t anywhere remotely near as shocked as Ryder was. There were too many strange twists crammed into this one night. Vincent and Christophe were related. They were cousins. And if his hypothesis on Christophe being a vampire was correct… Ryder’s knees buckled, suddenly unstable as he came to his mind-numbing conclusion aloud.

“You’re a vampire.”

The edges of his vision blackened, eventually becoming completely consumed by an inky wave. He barely registered the arms stopping him from fulfilling Beatrice’s witty, little prophecy about him cracking his skull.


==


Cinnamon.

‘Cinnamon’ was the first coherent thought in Ryder’s head. His second thought was very much related to its predecessor; where on earth was that spicy scent coming from? He opened his eyes, a decision he immediately regretted. Bright, blinding sunlight streamed through open Venetian blinds. He sat up quickly, his head throbbing painfully in retaliation. He observed his surroundings dazedly. He was lying on a burgundy couch in a small living room rather similar to his own. A look down revealed that someone had thrown a powder blue blanket over him while he’d been asleep.

Fucking hell.

He had the worst headache in recent history, and his fingers itched for the familiar warmth of a cigarette.

Trying to make sense of his quandary, he returned his mind to the previous night. A chill immediately ran through him. The last thing he remembered was his chat with Vincent and Beatrice in the backrooms, right before he lost consciousness. Everything after that drew a blank. With a sigh, he ran his fingers through his tangled hair as thoughts of vampires invaded. He wanted to believe that had all been an elaborate prank, or perhaps he’d been surrounded by rabid Anne Rice fans. Deep down he knew both of those odds were very unlikely.

His attention was diverted to the front door; someone was unlocking it from the other side. Simon was somehow the last person he’s expected to see shuffle inside. And then he cursed himself for being such a fucking idiot. He’d been here innumerable times. How the hell had he not recognised his best friend’s apartment?

“Finally awake, eh? I was beginning to think you were dead,” Simon chuckled good-naturedly as he rested his bomber jacket on an armchair.

“How’d I get here?” Ryder threw the blanket off, glad to see that his pants had been returned to preserve his modesty, even though they weren’t zipped up. “Where’s Natalie?”

“Vincent said you passed out. He called me using Natalie’s cell to pick your drunk ass up. You weren’t wearing any pants. I could’ve taken advantage of you, you know,” he wriggled his pierced eyebrows. “I just wanted to go straight home; figured you wouldn’t mind crashing on the couch. Anyway, Nat went home with Vincent. She was out like a light, too.”

“You left her with Vincent?!” that yell made the throbbing in his head ten times more intense. He let out a creative string of profanities as he massaged his temple.

Simon frowned. “Was I not supposed to? He’s her boyfriend.”

“What if something happened to her?”

“Are you still high or what?” Simon was staring at him as if he’d gone mad. “I had lunch with her and she seemed fine. She even went to work. The same can’t be said for you.”

…Lunch? Ryder’s eyes widened. He’d lost his sense of time. How long had he been asleep?

“It’s 3:30… in the afternoon,” Simon informed him with a wry smile.

“Why the fuck did you let me sleep so long? I’ve got work in less than three hours, you jackass!” Ryder stood, kicking off the remainder of the blanket which seemed to have developed a bond with his ankle.

“You could try being a little nicer to someone who carried you up three flights of stairs since the elevator’s broken. By the way, you’re heavier than you look.”

An embarrassed flush peppered Ryder’s cheeks. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s cool,” Simon shrugged nonchalantly. “Your head must be killing you. I’ve got some Tylenol. You can wash them down with a cup of coffee. Do you like cinnamon rolls? I made some for a client earlier, and as usual, I made too many.”

“That sounds good, Mommy dearest,” Ryder drawled sarcastically.

“Bite me.”

They made their way into the cramped kitchen where Ryder took a seat at the wicker table. Simon’s kitchen was well stocked, especially in comparison with Ryder’s. It was filled with all sorts of exotic things and impressive equipment; exactly what one would expect from a chef-in-training. The silver talons in Simon’s gauged ears swung as he laid a plate with two warm, glazed cinnamon rolls and a mug of steaming coffee before his guest. He then sat with his own cup of peppermint tea.

“So, did you have fun last night?” Ryder asked conversationally, downing the pills without the aid of any liquid.

“Fuck yeah! You missed an awesome live performance by this new act. I can’t remember what they’re called, but I think you’d like them; they’re aggrotech. Maybe we’ll see them at some other event. Anyway, I ended up fucking this hot deathrock chick in the bathroom. Got her number, too,” Simon grinned lewdly.

“At least one of us got laid then.”

“Oh please. You’re telling me you were half-naked in the backrooms and you didn’t get any action? I doubt that.”

Ryder just shrugged, sipping his coffee and staring at the calendar of scantily clad, tattooed girls on the wall.

“Don’t play shy with me; I saw you getting jacked off on one of the screens before you disappeared with the guy.”

At that, Ryder choked on his cinnamon roll and started coughing. He’d pushed that incident to the back of his mind, but apparently Simon and God knows who else hadn’t.

“You bisexuals are a frisky lot, grinding all over boys and girls all night…” Simon was revelling in his friend’s discomfort.

“Are you giving me a ride home or am I gonna have to catch the bus dressed like this?” Ryder blatantly changed the topic.

“Sure; your apartment’s on the way to my parent’s bakery anyway. We’ve got a big order for some politician’s wake this evening, so they need all the help they can get.”

“Baking for funerals? That’s slightly morbid.”

“We’re making a killing off this, no pun intended.”

“Are you gonna make little caskets out of chocolate? If you are, save some for me.”

“You are so warped.”

“Nothing dictates a wake can’t be festive. Funerals are very lively in the New Orleans, and let’s not forget the Mexicans’ Day of the Dead.”

“What is with you Goths and your obsession with dead shit?” Simon sounded exasperated. Honestly, they’d had too many conversations like this one.

“I’m not obsessed with dead shit.”

“You have a collection of Victorian post-mortem photos in a box in your bedroom, you little necrophiliac.”

“To be fair, they were a gift from my ex-girlfriend. You remember her, don’t you? Scarlet?”

“Of course I remember her. Fucking crazy, Wiccan bitch…”

“I have no idea why you two never got along. Natalie liked her.”

“No, Natalie pretended to like her; she’s too nice to be mean, even to that bitch. Personally, I think you only liked her because she’s shorter than you,” Simon grinned tauntingly.

However, Ryder was not nearly as amused. “I’m ready to go home now.”

“Excellent timing; I was just thinking we need to get going.”

“Please tell me you have my shoes. I haven’t seen them anywhere.”

“That’s because they’re still in the car. There was no way I was lugging those things up here, too.”

“Makes sense,” Ryder crammed the last bite of cinnamon roll into his mouth. “Shall we?”

“Let’s.”

The car ride was uneventful; they made idle chitchat, serenaded by the rebellious tunes of Simon’s Sex Pistols CD on the radio. As fate would have it, Ryder ended up sharing the elevator with the same old man from last night. This time the old codger did his best not to make eye contact.

A hot shower was the first thing on his mind when he stepped foot in his apartment. His reflection confirmed he was desperately in need of one; the crust which had formed during his long ‘nap’ was blackened by his now smudged eyeliner, his skin was greasy, and his hair resembled a black and blue rat’s nest. He quickly disrobed and stepped into the shower stall, looking forward to the warm spray. The water did wonders for the cricks in his spine. He scrubbed with generous amounts of body wash; finally aware that he smelled of alcohol and old perspiration. The purple teeth marks in his thigh were still sensitive to touch, stinging upon contact with the soap.

Now that he was alone there was no escaping last night’s memories. He didn’t know what to make of any of it. Believing that it was all a hallucination was what he decided to do, but it was only that simple in theory. No matter how hard he tried, he could not stop thinking about it. He shuddered at the image of Natalie’s still body face down in a pool of blood. But Simon was with her earlier and he nothing was wrong with her, so that proved something, didn’t it? Vincent hadn’t hurt her. That meant he couldn’t possibly be a vampire, right? Right.

For the second time that day, he’d lost track of time. When he’d gotten out of the shower, his skin had turned an unpleasant shade of pink and his fingers and toes were wrinkled. He didn’t have much time to waste or he’d be late for work. He pulled on the black slacks and red polo shirt required for his job. No time was spent on his hair; it always fell back into place after it dried. He chucked a new carton of cigarettes in his backpack, sticking one between his lips, before heading off to catch the bus.

As usual, the bus had run late, this time off by seven minutes. Luckily traffic had been fairly decent, so he’d gotten to work on time. His place of employment was located in a mall; a bookstore called ‘Pages’. It also sold CD’s and a few DVD’s, as well as boasting its own café. It wasn’t a terribly interesting job, but it was quiet and it paid the bills. His shift started at six and ended at midnight. He placed his things in the employee lockers and headed to the front counter; he shared register duty with Sanjay today.

Seconds melted into minutes melted into hours. The most exciting thing he’d done since his shift started was finally convincing three consecutive customers to purchase membership cards so they could save money on their purchases. It was a real pain forcing smiles and acting like you gave a damn if someone saved an entire dollar buying several volumes of ‘Naruto’.

“Are you ready for your break yet?” Meghan asked at 9:42. She was a wispy, freckled blonde with long, frizzy hair. She was rather friendly and open-minded; Ryder liked her. She was one of the few people he could hold a brief conversation with on the job.

“I can hold out a bit longer,” Ryder shrugged.

“Go on, man. It’s pretty dead at the moment,” Sanjay encouraged with a dismissive wave in that strong London accent of his.

“I’ll cover for you,” Meghan was already behind the counter.

“Alright, I know when I’m not wanted,” Ryder raised his hands in mock surrender.

“It’s not that,” she said. “You look tired today and I’m not going to stand by and let you wither away.”

Sanjay nodded in agreement.

“Since you put it that way, I’ll be back in an hour.”

In actuality, he was grateful for the break. He needed to stretch his legs, have a smoke, perhaps find something to eat, and pretty much get away from the ennui his job inspired. He’d simply been stalling because when he was by himself, his mind ran rampant with thoughts of vampires. He’d always suspected he would lose his mind someday, but this was not what he’d had in mind.

It was dark out; the sun had already set. The rest of the mall was closed, save for the Wal-Mart on the other side. He lit his cigarette, the flame of the Zippo and the orange flare at the lighted end entrancing for no real reason at all. It was a bit chilly. He should have brought the jacket in his bag with him. His mundane contemplations halted in their tracks as a strange feeling washed over him: the feeling of someone watching.

Paranoid, his eyes darted to and fro. He saw nothing out of the ordinary; people milling around the parking lot, a cop car on patrol, and two teenagers making out in an SUV with an interior light on. What was he getting all worked up about? It could’ve simply been one of the people in the parking lot staring at him for the sake of staring. Yet he wasn’t convinced. Could a vampire be lurking nearby?

No, because they weren’t real.

He knew he was being ridiculous. He had to stop thinking like this.

Back inside ‘Pages’, he had a strawberry smoothie and a croissant at the café, spending a few minutes flirting with the guy manning the blender. It was something he did quite frequently when business was slow. He wasn’t really attracted to him; he was too young and full of himself. Ryder was simply bored and listening to the cheesy, innuendo-laden lines was entertaining enough. If it weren’t for the boy’s nametag, he would never remember what to call him. Tonight it wasn’t so much boredom that led to this as it was the need for a distraction to stop him from going insane. Afterwards he browsed the latest horror paperbacks. He sat on the carpeted floor and finished the first chapter of an interesting-looking one before it was time to get back to what he was being paid to do.

Meghan was on the phone with her son’s babysitter while Sanjay filled the allotted spaces in a Sudoku book. Meghan cut her call short when she saw he’d returned.

“Oh, you’re back. Enjoy your break?” she beamed at him.

“I can’t complain,” he replied.

“A man came here looking for you while you were gone,” Sanjay informed, not taking his eyes off his puzzle. “He didn’t leave a name. He said he’d be back later.”

“Really?” Ryder was genuinely curious. He couldn’t think of anyone who would visit his workplace so late. The only person who came to mind was Simon. “Was he bald?”

“No, he was gorgeous! I think he was Scandinavian or something; tall, blond, and pale. He was pretty ripped, too,” Meghan fanned herself dramatically. “Put a good word in for your old friend, Meghan.”

For a few seconds, Ryder was certain his heart stopped beating. He only knew of one person who fit that description to a T, and that was Vincent. Why would Vincent look for him? More importantly, how did Vincent know where he was?

“I’ll be right back,” he took a few steps backwards before he all but ran to the bathroom.

He splashed cold water on his face, desperately trying to regain control of himself. He was jumping to conclusions and acting like a raving lunatic. He could only imagine what his co-workers thought of his hasty exit.

“Get a fucking grip,” he whispered harshly at his reflection.

“Someone might hear you talking to yourself and get the wrong idea,” a chillingly deep, familiar voice echoed in the square, one-person restroom.

This couldn’t be happening.

He’d locked the door.

No one else should be here.

He stared at the mirror, but all he saw was his terrified face staring back at him. Surely if someone else was here, he’d see a reflection. Hearing things was much better than someone actually being there.

He jumped as a cold hand grabbed his arm and turned him around.

“I hope you’re not planning on fainting again,” Vincent intoned.

==
The Munez Feed:

Thank you for the great feedback. I wasn’t expecting so many of you guys to review this one.

Crown of Leaves: The club was indeed named after the song. I was listening to it while writing some of this. And Ryder was wearing the tight bondage pants, so his boots went over them instead of under. As for the rave title, I just kept the theme off Blade.

Munez