Enraged

She ignored the light blinking on her desk phone and grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair. Fixing her collar, she glanced at her watch. Fifteen minutes to make it to the rally, Crap.

“Ms. Peters, wait a moment please.” The voice hailed her from the office at the end of the hall. What now? She crossed her arms and stared into the recording booth. Nya worked for WKTO out of Chicago, a radio station known for the latest breaking news about…whatever. Tonight, a national defense specialist was giving his speech on how America needed a stricter policy against “those who are deemed dangerous and disruptive to society.” That meant giving more money to the defense department. That meant paying for Mr. defense specialist’s new BMW.

Nya tapped her foot and checked the time. Seriously, if I don’t get out of here now, I’ll miss the opening protests. Nya worked at the station because she wanted to make a difference, lead people onto a better society, sing the news of change in the streets. The problem was no one was listening.

Her boss strolled out the door, struggling against his ample stomach to button his suit coat. He smiled at her, his eyes not making it up to her face.

“Ms. Peters, I was wondering if I could have a minute of your time.” You’ve had about five, and we’re still not any closer to the door.

“Actually sir, I have a rather important meeting to get to, is there any chance this could wait till tomorrow?”

“Ah yes, the duck thing right?” Nya’s skirt was right to her knees but she tried to pull it down further. He always made her feel bare.

“Red-breasted Merganser sir, the city is proposing to dam up the river, destroying their habitat. Opening oppositions start in ten minutes.”

He put an arm over her shoulders and she stiffened. “Nya, you’re an excellent investigator and I would promote you in heartbeat, if only you’d work on stories people actually want to hear about. You could be covering the opening of that new action film down at 7th St. theaters. Or, hey, I hear there’s a wonderful new line of hair products out at Macy’s. Hell, write about tap-dancing werewolves, I don’t care. Just write about something that gets ratings okay?” Werewolves?, you’ve got to be kidding. “Now, what about dinner. I hear there’s a great Chinese Buffet on 10th?” She shrugged his arm off forcefully.

“I’m sorry sir, but I really have to go.” Her heals clicked as she m oved fast towards the stairs.

“No one cares about those damn ducks Nya!” Her hands slid over the worn red paint of the railings, and she mumbled to herself.

“Tap-dancing werewolves, Macy’s shampoo.” Making it to the ground level she turned her face up, looking at the ten flights above her. “I care about those ducks you dick!” She didn’t mean to shout it, she knew she probably sounded like the guy outside with turrets, she didn’t care.

The bitter air, laced with the fart smell of the river and the cumin from an Indian restaurant, whipped her face and pulled the tears from her eyes. Five minutes, three blocks. The committee had only met because she had insisted. If she was late, they would all walk out. Her boss was right; no one cared about the ducks.



“Are you insane? You can’t be serious Jim, there hasn’t been a documented case in like a hundred years.”

“I’m dead serious son. And there’s only one way to tell. Use silver and they can’t get out.”

Rage fluttered his eyes, the voices drawing him to consciousness. He felt his arms bound with silver, and then he smelled them…humans. Dark eyes snapped open and an almost inaudible growl began in his chest.

“Hey I think he’s waking up.” Two men in black street clothes approached him, and Rage smirked at their fear, apparent despite the chains.

“What’s your name?” The older one spoke, but Rage’s eyes fixed on the younger, blond, slight, pale, veins showing through the skin. Rage remained silent, licking his lips and staring at the man’s throat. It had been two days since he’d tasted crimson, and he could feel his body getting weak.

“What’s your name pal?” Older blood tasted different, chalky. It left a rancid taste in his mouth. He preferred young blood; it was richer, newer. Rage stretched his muscles which were already sore from the rough stone of the wall and gazed at the young man in the center of the room.

The older man had gotten closer. “Hey, I asked your name.” Bored with the banter, Rage lazily snapped his teeth. The younger man tripped backwards, his face blanched with fear, but the other man connected knuckles with the middle of Rage’s stomach. Nothing. A yawn spilled from Rage’s mouth and he went back to staring at the boy.

The older man massaged his hand. “Peters, go get the agency on the phone. I think we’ve finally caught one.” The man glanced in Rage’s direction. “Have you heard about Mr. Garret? He’s head of a new program with the government, and he’s trying to fix the vampire problem in America.” Still bored. He leaned in, dangerously close to Rage’s face and spoke in a subdued voice. “They call him the Vampire Destroyer.”

Rage coughed in amusement. “That’s down right Shakespearean. Now, why don’t you let me out of here? I’m famished, and you’re jugular looks like the daily special.” The wispy boy reappeared in the doorway.

“He says they’ll be here in an hour.” The men left him, and Rage clicked his teeth in annoyance. It had been hundreds of years since he was tied up, and never by a human. This was not a very good day.



Nya pushed the elevator button rather sharply and slumped back in the corner. Five minutes, they couldn’t have waited five minutes. Her brother had once told her that if people really cared, they really listened. And obviously they weren’t listening. It had gotten colder since she ran up the stairs at the Mason building. She pulled the collar of her jacket over her chin and started the walk back to her apartment. As a kid, she had wanted to live in the country, surrounded by trees and streams, now she lived on the edge of a park overrun by the homeless and veinless. Twenty five, and she would never live up to her own dreams. An alley, lined with rusted out Fords and glassy gravel, stood in the way of Nya and her apartment. On her phone-she always pretended to be on the phone when she was alone on the pavement-Nya scanned the shadows of the alley. It wasn’t a bad neighborhood, the police were picking up anyone who seemed to be of the inclination to, at some time or another, be thinking of, possibly, committing a crime. It was just that sometimes, those who escaped the police scans would hide in the dark of the dumpsters. And sometimes, those playing hide and seek with the shadows wanted to play with young females out for a casual stroll. Mace in one hand and the phone in another, Nya started through the alley.

Joe, neighborhood loon, was among the Fords, scraping out a discarded Pork n Beans can with his talon-like fingernails.

“Where’s the cart Joe?” It was alright. If Joe was out, no one else was hiding in the alley. He didn’t answer, but continued eating, looking at the building across from him. A man, his bare skin darkened with something suspiciously resembling blood, was leaned against the bricks making the side of the Dollar General. Joe giggled.

“He’s nakey.” Joe thrust the can at Nya. “No clothes, I looked.”

She shook her head, refusing the offer. “How’d this happen?”

Joe shrugged and threw the empty can at the window, disappointed when it didn’t shatter. “They not know Joe was watchy them.”

The man remained still, but Nya watched his chest slowly rise and fall. “Was it a gang?” Joe had grabbed for the lid of the dumpster and was bent over the top, peering in.

“Nope, not kidsies. Coppers!” He lost his balance and toppled off, hitting the ground with a shriek. “Drove up and tossed him out a car. Rolled like this.” Joe wrapped his arms around his middle and thumped along the ground. Nya watched the man, noticing the bluish tint around his eye.

“You said cops did this Joe?”

“Yup. I saw shiny badges.”

“We have to get him to a hospital.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“He’s nakey.”

“Joe, I know he’s naked, but he needs a doctor, look at him!” Joe clapped his hands and pointed at her building. “You fix him.”

“I don’t take strange men in my apartment.” Nya was getting frustrated. She just wanted to go home, eat some leftovers and take a bath, but she couldn’t walk away from him. She watched his face; there was something enticing, even attractive under all that blood. If she took him to the hospital, they would call the cops, who he was obviously good buddies with.

Joe was watching her, his finger still outstretched to her window.

“Are you sure they were police?”

He nodded his head fervently. “Their car had a blue hat, whoo whoo whoo” He imitated the siren. “You fix him?”

“I can’t.” If he was taken by the cops, there was probably a good reason for it. He could be a murder, rapist, or some other type of unsavory fellow.

“Okay, I do it.” Joe walked over the man and attempted to life him up by the arms. His head rolled to the side, and Nya noticed a ring of dark blue around his neck. What in the hell? Joe continued struggling to lift him, puffing from exertion and finally letting go. The body slumped forward and the man’s back was in view. She stared at him, gasping at the lines of blood blanketing the skin. Joe looked at Nya and pointed at her window again.

“Fix him?” his voice was a whisper. She nodded.

“Help me get him there okay?” They moved him, wrapped in Joe’s one blanket, covered in mouse turds, up the stairs, managing to not be seen. She sent Joe away with ten dollars and a turkey sandwich from her fridge. He ate the ten dollars.