Do not kill one of your own.
“Oh my God! Oh my God!!!”
Her annoying, shrieking voice woke me just minutes before sunset.
Sometime during the day, Bobbi decided she wanted to clean her house after she left work, starting with her closet.
Still groggy, I watched her turn before she ran straight for the kitchen. The clattering of silverware finally snapped me out of my drowsiness and slowly, I climbed over boxes, making it out of the closet just in time to see her return, gripping a large steak knife in her right hand and a cell phone in the other.
“What the hell are you doing in my house?!” She screamed at me while her whole body shivered in fright.
The way humans react to strangers always amuses me. I heard her heart racing and tested her by taking one step forward. She screamed at the top of her lungs and shoved the knife in my direction, slicing the open air.
“Stay back, you!” she screamed.
From where I stood, I could tell the blade wasn’t sharp enough to cut through butter, let alone flesh. The handle was barely sturdy.
I took another step forward.
“I said stay back!”
You can tell a lot about someone by looking into their eyes. Hers revealed panic and worry while her mind raced with images of rape.
I may be a killer and torturer, but I don’t rape women.
What was it about me that often made humans perceive me as a rapist? It wasn’t the first time I’d been called that. I didn’t look like one. I liked to wear my brown hair slicked back to keep the tiny strands from my face. I still wore the same clothes I was wearing the night that Lucius and Selene crashed my Gathering: a black leather jacket, blue jeans, and a white shirt - all chafed, frayed, and ripped. Rather than rapist, I looked like Fonzie from Happy Days.
While Selene thought of me as a conceited, little brat saved by Lucius one solemn day back in Tralee, Ireland in 1848, I saw myself as the leader of a social movement underway. I stood by the side of my fellow Irishmen, protesting against the British occupation of our homeland. I let every man, woman, and child know that I, Malachy O’Byrne, was part of the Young Ireland social movement, and I refused to be ignored.
Our women were raped, tortured, and killed. My mother, Johanna, suffered greatly along with my little sister, Eliza. I couldn’t stand by and let it continue. I became more involved and more radical, just another human who felt the need to protest, fight for equality, and be treated like any human being. Looking back at it now, as a Deamhan, I believe I just wasted my time. Humans would always be humans. There would always be death in this world. The ultimate goal was just to make sure you weren’t the one standing on the pointy end and suffering because of it.
I stood there, watching Bobbi shake her weary hand at me as if the knife were the only deciding factor of our confrontation. I yawned and leaned against the wall, unsure of what I wanted to do with her. I woke up hungry, but not for her. I craved a woman with a little meat on her: young, luscious, and ripe with psychic energy. Bobbi didn’t have that.
But I couldn’t ignore my cravings.
“I’ll call the cops. You just wait right there!” She waved the knife at me again. “You… you… you pervert!”
“Go and call them.” I proceeded to walk in her direction, taking a sharp right to move to the other side of the room. Suddenly, it hit me. It was the same idea I had when I first met Nashoba on his farm. After hiding out several days in the back shed, he surprised me with a shotgun aimed straight at my skull. We chatted for a few minutes as he threatened to kill me and I dared him to, before I easily subdued, drained, and sired him as a thank you of sorts.
I didn’t have anything to thank Bobbi for, but having another Deamhan by my side, just in case I didn’t find Nashoba, would be the first step to rebuilding my minions. I just had to get over the hump that she didn’t smell like the type I preferred to eat. But desperate times called for desperate measures. I couldn’t think of any human who’d turn away a chance at immortality. It’s all the rage these days. Teenage girls just scream over cute, young-looking, pale men with sharp fangs, and dream about these “vampires” entering their homes during the night, seducing them, and falling in love with them. Thinking about those estrogen-filled desires made me chuckle. Who’d want to be a vampire when you could be a Deamhan! It’s like choosing to be the prey instead of the beast.
Moving at breakneck speed, I grabbed the knife and phone from her grasp and threw them both to the ground. I did all of it before she had the chance to blink. Her mouth widened enough to catch flies, showing some of the human fear that I loved seeing.
“See what I did there Bobbi?”
Shell-shocked, she didn’t reply.
“I know you saw it. Tell me you saw it.” I wanted to hear her say it, but she couldn’t speak a word.
“I can make you into what I am. I can make you immortal. You’ll be fast, strong, and unafraid of anyone and anything.”
“What?” She spoke in a high, squealy voice.
“I can make you immortal. It’s easy really.” I paused. “Well, actually it isn’t. Some humans don’t survive the transformation.” I scanned her. “But you look suitable, I guess. So, you want me to?”
She screamed and lashed out at me. Driving her fingernails into my skin, she scored long, deep scratches that healed immediately. Angered, I grabbed her by her arm and easily tossed her across the kitchen. Her back smacked against the fridge and she fell to the floor.
“I guess I can’t make you.” I walked over to her. “Stupid move, Bobbi. If someone offered immortality to me, I’d take it in a heartbeat.” I knelt beside her and she lazily raised her head.
“Well, actually I did, and I don’t have a heartbeat.” I slipped my hand underneath her chin and raised her head. “I’ll give you a second chance, that’s it. Bobbi, do you want to become immortal?” I’ve sired plenty of humans in my time; too many to count, and not once did I regret doing so. Each human served me in different ways. Nashoba was my getaway card. Bobbi would be my… well, maybe she could be an extra pair of eyes while I remained in town, if she awoke from her transformation in time. The more humans a Deamhan sired, the more support he had, even if Deamhan weren’t generally known to be reliable. Broken bonds didn’t matter.
I waited for her to throw herself at the offer, but instead, she opened her mouth and screamed again.
And again. And again.
She wailed, trying to move her body away from me. Tears poured down her face. She raised herself up from the floor by using the fridge as support.
“Please, don’t hurt me.”
I stood up slowly. “I didn’t say anything about hurting you. I asked you if you wanted to be immortal. Are you listening?”
She tried to run past me, but I blocked her way. She moved to the left and I followed her.
“I have money. It’s in my room. Just please don’t kill me.”
“I don’t want your money.” I exhaled loudly, grinding my teeth.
“Please, just go. I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”
This was turning into a cat and mouse chase, and frankly, I was bored from repeating myself. I reached out, grabbed her by her scraggly hair, and pulled back, yanking with such force that I heard her neck snap. I let go and her body fell to the floor like a limp noodle.
Standing over her, I took the time to admire my handiwork until I realized that I’d just killed a potential meal.
“Damn it, Bobbi,” I snarled as I kicked her corpse. “Now look what you made me do.”