Remembering Death

By Hannah Shockley

Felicia Greene lives a life of solitude. After a chance meeting in a club with Clayton Harlow, Felicia's peaceful world is threatened to be exposed and shattered. When trying to run—and even changing her name—does not work, she is drawn into the search for a dormant vampire. With limited options, she is forced to comply. Finding a resolution to keep her own dark secrets and survive will prove to be more complicated than she can imagine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781645847397

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Remembering Death

Hannah Shockley

Copyright © 2020 Hannah Shockley

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2020

ISBN 978-1-64584-738-0 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-64584-739-7 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

First Encounter

Two Choices

The Beginning

Felicia No More

Savior?

Prudence

Decision

Hope

A Home

Cost of a New Identity

A New Role

Lessons

A Trio Forms

The Search Begins

A New Distraction

Discovery

The Lure of Blood

Dark Truths

Test of Friendship

Blackmail

Awaken

Sebastian

Chapter One

First Encounter

Shadows are silent watchers, keepers of the dark truths left unspoken. The deeds and mannerisms that society shuns conceal their true nature in that obscure replica. It has become a game to try to guess the qualities of others’ hidden side, but one never truly knows what secrets reside in a shadow. Looking at mine, it would be no different from the rest. Yet it is the blackest of all. None can rival my dark secrets, and it is my deepest wish for it to remain that way. My life here is comfortable, and I still have much to learn from Las Vegas.

I step to the window to look out at the world below. From my little apartment, I can see nearly everything. Elaborate skyscrapers parade in the distance. They hold the promise of elegance and entertainment that so many travel here to see. Buildings lie like scattered blocks with little more than strips of streets and sparsely placed vegetation between them. Even in this barren land of concrete, glass, and sand, people thrive with ease. Throngs of them dot the streets. Each is different, an individual up close but from a fourth-story view they become faceless, little more than animated shapes of color on a sun-bleached city background. Following every one of them is the dark embodiment of their secrets.

Of all those below, my eyes find a group of five traveling together. From here it is hard to tell, but judging by their carefree saunters, they are in the early years of adulthood. The two women dress in form-fitting shorts and tank tops that reveal more skin than they cover, and the three males are the opposite with sagging jeans and oversize shirts. Only the youth of this time enjoy that look. I squint my eyes in an effort to make out more of their details.

One of the females bears a distant resemblance to me. Dark locks trail down her back much like mine do. They sway as she molds her thin frame against one of her broad male companions. In another life, that could be me, embraced by the arms of a lover and laughing with friends. Just some normal girl with a normal life, doing normal things. The unfortunate truth is that I am far from normal.

My skin will never have that sun-kissed glow like hers. Instead it remains pale as a result of the disease that ravages my body and soul. Unlike her, my only companion is the shadow that is forced to accompany me. If it had a choice, I am sure that it too would abandon me. That woman’s way of life is far beyond my grasp. It slips even further away as the group begins to disappear around the corner of a building. I reach out to draw them back, but my fingers only touch the warm window in front of me. In the span of a breath, all five are out of sight with only the shrinking forms of their shadows to indicate they ever existed, but soon that too is gone. I scour over the others roaming below, in search anyone who can hold my interest, but my eyes keep drifting to the dark shapes following close at every heel.

Tapping a finger against the glass pane, I push away from the outside world and search my tiny apartment for anything to occupy my restless mind. I do not call this place home for I have none. It is only a cover while I conduct my studies. Before I arrived, this space was no more than an empty shell. Even after I filled it with the requirements for a home, it remains as cold as the lifeless white walls. The only personal touches are brimming bookshelves topped with the trinkets I have gathered over the years. Those precious mementos fill my endless hours with worlds far away. It is a pleasant distraction from the questions constantly wracking my mind. For a moment, I consider pulling a story from the shelf, but what I truly desire cannot be found bound within a cover.

Since amnesia has stolen my youth, I developed an insatiable curiosity to uncover that missing time. Long ago, I found myself alone with no recollection of who I was. The memories of that day still haunt me, remaining as vivid as if it were yesterday that I woke covered in blood among the carnage that was once a town. Just mentioning it makes my heart pound with fear of the memories. The world is a much darker place than many know, and I have witnessed things only meant for nightmares. That is where I thrived, lost among the scenes of death and despair under the cover of a sunless sky. For years I have tried different methods to make happier memories bubble up from the depths of my consciousness, but so far it is to no avail. With no viable options left, the best I can do is try to find a way to understand the life that eludes me. With a sigh, I lie down on the couch and cover my eyes as if it will keep dark memories from surging forward. Indeed, those were very dark days, but like all nights, dawn eventually breaks. Through the cracks of my fingers, my eyes find their way to the window once more. Somewhere on the other side are the answers I seek.

Being in the city of Las Vegas allows me a unique view into the mind of man. It is a common destination point for people to come to experience a wilder side of life that cannot be attained elsewhere. From the box-dwelling street folk to the high-priced elite, each made a choice that led them to their current standing. There are many roads to take in life, yet humans find it thrilling to walk the shaded paths. The allure is beyond my comprehension, but even so I want to know more about what draws them to the paths of self-destruction. Discovering these little intricacies is an obsession of mine, but no knowledge can be obtained from the confinements of this room. Dragging myself to my feet, I prepare for an excursion into society.

Stripping down, I apply a layer of sunscreen and throw on a pair of jeans and a loose gray T-shirt. Without even a glance in the mirror, I open the door and head to the streets to see what the city has in store for me. The sun’s warm embrace melts my thoughts away as I step from the confines of the apartment complex. Instantly the bustling world of humans wreak havoc on my senses. The overload of light, smells, and sounds is a drastic contrast to the apartment. Before melding into the flow of bodies, I take a deep breath to center myself before exposing myself to the masses. The scent of man is dulled by the stench of his creations, but even so my chest begins to ache. Living among people has several drawbacks, but time and training has allowed me to adjust. Pain is just another part of my everyday existence, but it will not hold me back from finding answers. With no destination in mind, I take a step forward, allowing the tide to sweep me away.

Catching snippets of conversations, I watch each speaker with eager interest. Their words are inconsequential. I am more interested in how life exudes from each of them. Whether it is a simple shift in posture or a look on their face, emotions come so easy to these people. If I was to let my walls down, there would be only pain. Not the physical kind that I deal with every day, but the deep, relentless aches that comes from wounds of the soul. The years I remember are dark and trigger only the worst of emotions. When it became too much to bear, I turned away from the cause of my pain, shutting each emotion off as if it were a switch on the wall. As time passed I became empty, little more than a lost soul searching to reestablish that connection, but my darkness constantly interferes with any progress I can make.

Basic instinct causes the others around me to walk with a wide berth. Something inside them warns of the danger I impose. If they did glance my way, their eyes only show the face of the quiet observer, but chained inside is another: one that desires the end of life rather than finding one. It is one more reminder of the disease that forces me into a life of solitude no matter how many surround me. The sinking feeling in my chest forces me to look away from the living only to land on the display of a clothing store ahead of me. The closer I come to it, the more my feet begin to slow.

Three manikins stand ageless and hollow encased in glass display. Their faulty representations of humans remind me of my own emptiness, but a dress is what holds me in place while the world continues to move around me. It is short in length and made from a silky jade fabric. The halter neck plunges low and loose with little adorning it other than a dusting of white along the neckline and skirt. It is simple, yet it has a red-light appeal that would be ideal for doing something outside my cautionary routine.

My skin prickles in warning. I glance around at the faces streaming by, but not one eye is on me. The danger is not external. As my sight returns to the dress, unease stirs in my gut. My hidden side is the one drawn to this garment, and it is seeking a way to the surface. Every beast wishes to break free of its bonds, but this one must never do so. Resisting is a constant battle, but I have found that taking measures to placate it helps keep the darkness at bay. This dress will not be enough, but it is the beginning.

Even I must admit it will look appealing on me, though it exposes much more than my traditional garb. I look down at my drab ensemble. Every choice I make down to my very clothes is an attempt to be inconspicuous, but my alter ego has no concern with blending in. My closet holds many fine garments due to the influence of my other side, but they rarely make it off their hangers. My eyes drift back up to temptation. In this, heads will turn and eyes will be upon me. The thought is thrilling, but the attention is the demon’s desire. It wants to flaunt my secret in the open and feel the thrill of stalking among the clueless masses in hopes that I will slip.

As I step forward for a closer look, my features fill in those of the faceless manikin. The woman staring back at me seems almost unfamiliar, but the eyes are the same green I have seen a million times. The same waves of hair frame high cheeks and a slender face, ending in loose curls halfway down my torso. Their original auburn color is hidden by an ebony layer of dye. Only the smirk on my lips is not of my doing. My shadow-self is starting to seep through. It is time to let the guard down just enough to allow my other side some restrained freedom. Without giving doubt a chance to grow, I enter the store and purchase the dress. Finding a place to wear it will be easy. After all, I am in Vegas.

The best way to find anything here is to walk the streets. Someone will always point you in the right direction. With the weekend at hand, all the clubs and casinos have promoters out pushing the grand events they are hosting. They dress in flashy costumes singing praises of their establishments and handing out fliers. I stop to listen to most of them, but none of their hawking holds promise. I need something different from the tourist attractions, something much more gritty than a display of money and wealth. My alter ego yearns for death, and only the foul nature of man can bring excitement to appease it. The choices may be limited now, but after nightfall, Vegas becomes a different place. The setting of the sun brings out a darker side of man, and with it will come my necessary distraction. Turning into the setting sun, its pleasant heat brings out a smile as I return to the apartment for preparations to paint the town red. Figuratively, of course.

My new dress slides across my skin with luxurious ease. The fabric hugs my body in its sleek embrace, accenting the curves that define me as a female. It truly is a thing of beauty, but I am left with the nagging feeling of vulnerability. Exposing this much of my skin is asking for trouble. Touch, for me, is a dangerous sense. The heightened sensitivity of my skin makes it difficult to come in contact with people. When in public, this can be difficult to avoid, but so long as there is something between my flesh and that of another, it can be tolerated. My reaction to skin-on-skin contact will clue others into the fact I am more than I appear to be. Body temperature is the most insignificant clue to notice. The others are instinctive reactions that I can overcome, but in the minutes it takes to do so, my secret is out for the world to discover. No excuse would be adequate enough to save me from what man would do to me. A hint of caution creeps into my mind, but it is pushed aside before having the opportunity to take hold. Some chances are necessary to take.

To ease my feeling of exposure, I search through a drawer containing gloves until I find a pair that will match. Each is neatly folded and laid out by color. The choices are slim, but I have a pair of white elbow-length ones that will suffice. At least my hands will be shielded should the need arise to touch someone. There is little else I can do to cover my flesh, so I pin up the sides of my hair in braids and apply a light layer of makeup. It is amazing how such simple changes alter one’s appearance so much. The attractive woman in the mirror looks nothing like the woman who was roaming the street just moments ago. She is bound to draw unwanted attention. My unease grows stronger, but inside is a sense of satisfaction and excited anticipation.

By the time my preparations are complete, night has already fallen. The streets are lit with a neon glow nearly as bright as the midday sun as I return to the sidewalk once more. Instead of heading toward the bright dancing lights and flashy fountain displays, I make my way to the darker side of town. This is one of the areas that I typically avoid. The air here is tainted with the foul deeds that occur in the shadows. Dark thoughts fill my head, begging me to further stain the streets. The buildings here are short and in desperate need of repair. Most are devoid of light during the night hours, adding an eerie feeling of abandonment to the atmosphere.

Following the thin flow of foot traffic, I spot a group of rowdy college students. They are dressed like they are out for a night on the town, but like me, they are traveling away from the main attractions. If anyone can lead me to another face of this town, it will be them. I follow, deeper into the shadows, until the casino lights are no more than the hint of a halo behind black buildings. My escorts disappear into an uninviting building that bears no more than an unlit sign reading Underground to identify it. It looks more like broken-down factory where thugs meet rather than an establishment for entertainment. My enthusiasm drops a few levels, but I have lived in far worse places. Without any further delay, I pull open the doors and step inside.

Much as the name suggests, a dark stairway opens before me leading down to what looks like a hallway. The only illumination comes from the corridor below, where there is a row of pale lights on either side. As I reach the bottom, I can see the full extent of the hall. It leads to a man and a table sitting in front of a pair of solid black doors. The man is large and bulky, built to handle trouble. He is dressed in black from head to toe. Even his hair is dyed an unnatural shade of black and spiked. When he asks for my identification, there is an air of malice in his voice. If this one is any indication of what to expect on the other side of those doors, then I have found what I seek.

Loud music and dazzling lights assault me as I open the door. The interior’s persona is a shock compared to the decrepit exterior. It may appear dead to unknowing eyes, but this place pulses with hidden life. Though the walls and ceiling are painted black, splashes of fluorescent paint electrify the room under the eerie glow of blacklights. It is reminiscent of blood spatter from movies involving battles with invaders from other planets. Fans of colored lights dance around, making the room itself jump to the beat of the music. It is nearly too much to handle, but my alter ego is fascinated by the sight.

In this new environment, clothes take on another form. Everyday garments transform into something vivid and wild under the purple glow, showing they too have a side the world never sees. My own outfit morphs to reveal a shimmer of purple on dark fabric while the white glows with unearthly brightness.

Perching myself at the end of the bar, I order a drink and watch customers file in. Despite man’s multitude of follies, the one I find most interesting is the process some choose to achieve a state of relaxation. It is a fascinating study and one that I rarely get to witness since visiting crowded bars and clubs is a disaster for someone like me. The people in such environments appear to let go of their need to be socially acceptable when introduced to drugs and alcohol. The secrets of their shadows start to seep out as they shed the inhibitions of moral standards. It allows them to transformation from proper man to carnal animal without being shunned for their behavior. Since I refuse to feed my alter ego with death, I allow it to witness man’s vices. My lips curl back into a wicked grin. The demon is pleased.

Before long, the bar is surrounded, and waitresses busy themselves with running drinks to tables. It is only a matter of time before the liquid courage starts to loosen the tethers on the human mind and the animals start to emerge. Tonight will be entertaining for both of my sides. My eyes drift through the crowd to land on one female in particular who pops a pill in her mouth and washes it down with a glowing blue alcoholic concoction. She is a foolish one, a prime candidate for the taking, were I interested in such a thing. But she needs more time before she will be of much interest. As I survey more of the growing crowd, the heat of a passing body causes me to face the bar in order to prevent contact with my unprotected legs. The mirror in front of me reflects the dance floor, but what draws my attention is the man passing close to me.

At first glance, he is nothing too interesting, just another male, somewhere in his late twenties, here to let loose after a long day of work. He seems harmless enough when he falls heavily on the stool next to me. While he is distracted with ordering a scotch, I study him closer. Most of the face is hidden by his dark hair falling forward as he bows over the drink he is served. His jawline is strong and chiseled, a sign of a strong will, but his build is too slender for him to do much physical labor. I watch as his hands toy with the short glass. They show no hint of callous or scar from work, yet his shoulders slump with exhaustion. It must be of the mental sort.

The more I look at him, the more my curiosity grows. I am not sure which side desires it, but I must know more about this stranger. The air around him holds the scent of dust with a hint of antique paper. Could he work at a museum or a library? I cannot imagine this would be where a person of that walk of life would spend his spare time. What could possibly draw someone so tame to a place so feral? Humans can be so full of surprises.

Turning to the crowd allows me a better view of the man beside me. I use it to my advantage and examine the rest of him while pretending to look at the crowd. His ensemble of jeans and black polo seem to swallow the colorful lights, creating a black hole next to me. I glance around at the rest of the patrons. Not one of them has the same effect as him. Everything about him is out of place. Curiosity urges me to look back at him, but this time it is more obvious than I intend. When my eyes make it to his stubble-covered face, he is staring back at me. On impulse, I offer the sweetest smile I can muster.

Clayton Harlow! he yells over the music while extending his right hand. I look at it as if he is offering me poison then slowly place my gloved hand in his.

My name is Felicia. I apologize for being rude, but you appear to be out of your usual environment, I say, keeping the smile plastered on my face in hopes he does not notice my discomfort.

Did my good looks tip you off? he responds with a short laugh. We all have our reason for being here. But mine is definitely not for entertainment. Then again, I’m easily swayed. The stranger returns my smile with an impressive one of his own and rubs a thumb across the back of my hand before releasing his grasp. His intense stare breaks long enough to throw back the remainder of his drink and motion the bartender for another. Even over the abrasive music, I can hear his heart pick up its pace. This one may be interesting, but his topic of conversation has me conflicted. The demon wants to continue and see what pleasures he holds, but I find myself shying away from the intimate images it plays in my mind. It is best to end this before he attempts to go any further.

Seems like an odd place to conduct business, but I wish you the best in your endeavors. Before he has the chance to comment, I turn to the crowd. Those on the dance floor are beginning their transformations. The scent of lust grows thick in the air as bodies grind to the beat of the music.

So do you come here much? The question sends a wave of caution through my brain and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My darkness has tuned my hearing to the voice of the man beside me, causing it to cut through all other sounds with crystal clarity. The demon wants me to interact with this male. Socializing with humans is not something I typically do. Their intentions are not always clear, and I do not want to give anyone a chance to get close to me. My gaze shifts back to the male again, but this time it is in suspicion. I look at him with new eyes trying to discover his purpose.

He is not exactly handsome but not unattractive by any means. His hair hangs to his cheekbones and looks like he is a few years late for a trimming. His square jaw compliments his small sharp nose in a pleasing way, but his lips cause my eyes to narrow. Never trust anyone with thin lips. They are easy to lie through, and so far, experience has proved them to harbor anger issues. It is probably best if I just avoid this one, but my darkness has other intentions. Unless I want a war with the demon, I have little choice but to capitulate. Against my better judgment, words start pouring out.

Not often. I come here when I need a change of scenery and a stiff drink. Let me get you another, I lie with ease as I beckon the bartender. Bloody Mary and another drink for my new acquaintance. As the bartender sets to making the drinks, I turn my attention back to the stranger beside me. So are you here for someone in particular or just a temporary arrangement? I hear that bars are not the best place for picking up a mate, I say, sliding the drink toward him.

Depends. Which do you prefer? He leans on the bar and stares at me while he slowly takes a sip of his drink. His brazen attitude makes my face burn, and I have to scramble to find a way to change the topic.

There are many willing women here. Perhaps you should ask one of them to accompany you for the night. Consorting with strange men is not my custom. He laughs in response and shakes his head.

Fair enough. It’s nothing like that. I am looking for a woman, just not for any reason you would think. His statement causes my curiosity to burn.

There is only one reason a man chases after a woman, I prop an elbow up on the bar and lean toward him, and we both know why. Tell me more about her, and perhaps I can help you find your woman. The alcohol must be starting to affect him because he swallows hard before speaking.

She is of Irish decent, a beautiful woman with long red hair and green eyes. Her name is Fiacha. The scent of lust rolls off him in waves. Either this woman was a past love or I am having some kind of effect on him. My demon revels in the desire, no matter what the reason. The only comfort I can cling to is that he is not asking any more questions about me, so I try to get him to say more.

That is a funny name. Why wou—

It’s an ancient name of great power. Finding her is very important. What she knows can help me, he cuts me off in midsentence in a slurred burst of words.

Anger lights up his eyes, and he slams back another drink. Such a passionate reaction to a simple question, and his lies are weak. This must be a very sore subject. What can he be hiding? My curiosity overrides my internal caution alarm and presses on.

I meant no offense. I have not heard such a name as that. If it is in my ability, I would like to assist you. Loading my words with every bit of charm possible, I slide another drink his way. Perhaps his interest in me can be of some use after all.

He squints at me and hunkers down with a new drink in hand. Watching the man decide is rather interesting. His emotions roll across his face. The anger washes away, turning into relief, then curiosity, and settle on distrust. Just when I am certain he will say no more, his eyes finally connect with mine. I flash him an encouraging smile, and he sighs.

You probably won’t believe me if I tell you, he slurs. I wait in silence as he takes another drink. Sure, why not. I am part of this group of history scholars.

Oh, I love history. It was one of my favorite subjects in school. In all truth, I have seen much of it, but he does not need to know that. I move closer to the male, urging him to talk more. With the alcohol clouding his mind and me manipulating his hormones, there is no chance of refusal.

The male rolls his eyes and turns them to the drink in his hand. That is not the reaction I want. Unless I change my tactics, there will be nothing more to learn, but I must know. Placing my gloved hand on his arm, his muscles tense, but he still will not look at me.

If she means that much to you, allow me to assist you in finding her. The words roll out of my mouth without any thought. Slowly the strange man turns his head to face me. Every sign of intoxication fades away.

Why would you offer to help someone you don’t even know? His voice bears the same sudden clarity.

Honestly, I am not sure, but I do enjoy a good mystery. This seems important to you, and if I can help, perhaps we can be beneficial to each other. My alarms override their mute and begin going off like fireworks on Independence Day. I know I should tread lightly, but my curiosity is now a blazing inferno, and there is no avoiding the burn.

The man sits rigid in his seat staring at me with a blank look on his face. His features give no hint to what he is thinking. This is one of those moments I wish I could be privy to others inner monologues. Then again, that would take all the enjoyment out of my studies. Our attempt to read each other is suddenly interrupted by a flailing mass of skin, hair, and glowing fabric. The floundering fool crashes into the bar between us. It is the girl I was watching before my current interest showed up. Laughing at her folly, she grabs my leg to pull herself back to her feet. Squeezing my eyes shut, I can feel my teeth begin to shift, and I become all too aware of the blood oozing down her forearm.

Please remove your hand from me, I say through gritted teeth. The harshness of my tone causes her to freeze rather than relinquish my flesh. My darkness surges forward with such ferocity that my hands begin to tremble from trying to restrain it. No curiosity is worth sating if this is the price. It is time for me to leave. I slide off the barstool, dumping the girl to the floor, and head swiftly for the door.

Contact with a human causes me great distress. It is like seating a starving man in front of a feast and telling him he cannot eat it. The heat of that woman’s flesh still burns upon my leg. Her pulse has awakened an urge I have not had to face in a very long time. The temptation becomes stronger with each passing second even though she is nowhere near.

Felicia!

The sound of my name is barely distinguishable over the music, but I keep moving, carefully dodging anyone who steps in my path. My brain is a chaotic mess of thoughts. Hungry. Run! Feed. Escape! My chest heaves with the exertion of refusing instinct. I must find a way to calm my cravings, but the alcohol in my system is inhibiting me from focusing my thoughts. In fact, it is making my urges even harder to control. I am a fool to think I can get so close to them.

Felicia, wait! the voice calls again.

Fingers wrap around my gloved wrist. Wrong move. Defensive training takes over, and I twist my arm free of the grasp. In the same fluid motion, I latch onto the attacking arm and wrench it just enough to cause the male from the bar to plummet to his knees. My glare falters when his eyes show fear behind their amazement. Shame loosens my grasp as I stare down on the kneeling man. That is the very look I try so hard to avoid. It is man’s ingrained reaction to my kind. There is no need for any human to ever view me in fear, but it is not possible to hide the desire burning hot in my eyes. He may not know my secret, but something inside him must be warning him of the danger I impose.

I must leave is all I can manage to say as I back out the first set of doors into the hallway. Just as I make it to the parking lot, feet stumble out the door behind me. The sound of his steps follow my every move. This male is a stubborn one. Now is not the time to test the limits of my control. His reckless stupidity loosens the long-forgotten feeling of anger from its confines.

What? I growl, spinning to face my follower. He takes a step backward as the full force of my fury blasts in his direction.

Ummm, he gulps, I think I would like to continue this conversation. He straightens his stance to hide the fact he is rubbing his wrist where I grabbed him.

Attempting to relax is hopeless. If I stay much longer, there will be no hope for this man. My willpower is waning fast, and unless I can rid myself of this pest, it will be his life that is sacrificed to quell the beast inside me. Taking a deep breath, I steady my voice as much as possible.

I apologize for my callous behavior. That girl… I stop midsentence to fight another surge of hunger. Are you familiar with the Skyline Apartment Complex? He nods. Apartment number forty-two. One hour. Without another wasted word, I walk away, melding with the shadows to make my escape.

Chapter Two

Two Choices

By the time I make it across the threshold, the hunger and anger gnawing at me have yet to diminish. I may have made it back to the sanctuary of the apartment without incident, but I am not completely unscathed. My body trembles from the ache that has settled deep into my bones. It is an unavoidable side effect for abstaining, but it is the price I gladly pay.

My only desire is to curl up on the couch and wait for the pain to consume me. Yet doing so will accomplish nothing. Despite my great amount of distress, it will not kill me, but neither will it stop. The only way to alleviate this feeling is to feed. Instead of succumbing to the couch, I head straight for the refrigerator. Pushing aside random containers of food and drinks, my fingers find the hidden trigger in the back. There is a quiet hiss when one of the panels slide to the side, revealing a hidden compartment. With a shaking hand, I pull one of the bags free and place it in the microwave to heat. The aroma seeping out causes my pain to spike, and I can hold back no longer.

Jerking open the door to my meal, I pull the bag free to find it still cool, but it is barely a fleeting thought. Having such temptation in my hands brings out the worst in me. The hunger takes over. My teeth penetrate the thick plastic with viscous ease to reach the treat inside. With every swallow, I can feel my shadow loosen its grasp on my body. In moments, the last of the liquid slides down my throat, and I am once again in control. A sigh escapes my lips. That was too close.

My head finally clears of murderous intent only to realize my thoughtless action of inviting a human to my residence. How could I be such a fool? Shedding my dress, I throw it on the floor in a fit of renewed anger. At the bar, I could hardly think of more than killing that man. Extending an invitation was the first idea to emerge to get him to relinquish his pursuit. Though now that I think about it, it sounds more like a scheme for getting him alone with no witnesses. Regardless, it worked. Had he chosen to argue, I am unsure whether I could have stopped myself from ripping out his throat. Shaking my head does little to clear the images of his death from playing in my mind. No, I will never become a murderer.

Ripping through my closet, I dig out a pair of jeans and a tank top. Being in my usual clothes puts me more at ease, but it does nothing to quell my mind. Each idiotic decision from tonight replays there, fueling me to find somewhere to focus my unrest. Damn my curiosity and my darkness. All this could have been avoided if I had just denied my other side. It was a reckless decision, but at least I was able to avoid doing anything regrettable. With a heavy sigh, my anger burns out as I seat myself on the couch. In my contemplative fury, I managed to give my already-tidy apartment a pristine sheen. At least this space will be presentable should he decide to show himself. I pray his better judgment will keep that man far from me.

My head snaps to look at the door. Muffled footsteps pace in the hall beyond it. The faint scent of aged paper tells me exactly to whom they belong. If only he would lose his nerve and leave. Were it possible to force my will upon him, he would not have taken another step. To my surprise, the footsteps stop, but instead of fading, as I wish, the rap of knuckles beckon for attention. At their call, I walk to the door, but instead of opening it, I listen to the sounds of life on the other side.

This is new territory for me. Other than short work-related conversations, I have never actually spoken with anyone in a very long time. It is an exciting prospect, but even so, this is breaking one of my cardinal rules: do not get close to them. I push the thought aside. This night has gone awry in many ways, perhaps this one conversation can salvage a wasted night of study. At the very least, I can find out what drives this one. Taking another moment, I ensure that my darkness is buried deep inside me before I open the door.

Hello, Clayton. Please come in. My greeting falls flat of happy, but the man standing before me barely notices.

So…this is where you live? he says, sidestepping around me to get inside.

It is. Shall we continue where we left off? I say while motioning him to take a seat.

He sits on the couch, but rather than responding, his eyes begin to roam over my belongings. There is nothing to see that will give me away, but I still find the act irksome. He needs to be talking, not snooping through my things. Forcing a smile onto my face, I let the door close with a resounding clip in order to retrieve his attention.

You know, you’re pretty hot when you’re mad. Scary, but hot. Are you sure everything is all right? he asks with a nervous laugh as his eyes find their way back to me. They follow my every move as I make my way to a chair at the