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The Vampire in a Condominium

By L.E.Swainsleigh

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The is an example of therapy writing for me,

starring a recurring character in such stories, Christian. Comments are

extremely appreciated.

I came upon the condominium entirely by accident, while strolling a new section in a new town. I had just endured a long train ride, and the hour was early still. My face was drawn with that fever that only a vampire can suffer; a fever of lacking, need, utter drain.

The night was cool and windy, my hair whipping about me, my hands moving to draw the edges of my long velvet jacket closer around me, although the cold fell on numb skin. I merely wished for my attire not to fall into a state of disarray.

The cedars that lined the even, clean street swayed hauntingly around me, the water in the nearby pond rippling like flawed glass. I heard these movements, these changes. The subtle hum of the air, the whispered whistle of the cedars and the creaking of their laboured boughs. And the water, its tiny ripples snapping and shifting.

            I alone remained unchanged by the winds, by the approaching cold. My skin didn’t prickle in the temperature, nor did my eyes shift to catch the origin of some unknown sound. I was aware, comfortable, resilient.

            The building delighted me immediately, and I felt my face move into its amused smirk that had become so familiar since I became what I am. It was an atrocious piece of architecture, it appalled me to look at, and the harsh headlights of passing cars on the avenue leading up to it made my eyes squint and blink. It wasn’t the appearance of the place that thrilled me; it was its sweet play on my sense of smell that attracted me like a vicious bee to the most succulent nectar.

            Humans. Mortals. People. Hundreds of them, in little square rooms all exactly alike. Take-out boxes with all manners of wondrous delicacies within. Robust Americans, tart Asians, and sweet Europeans, my personal favourite.

            I paused in a grassy island in the front lot surrounded by small pines, near the entrance to the building, and watched. Waited. The heart of the hunt is patience. I could just smash the glass pane of the door and unfasten the lock from within, but that would be too easy. Too obvious. A skillful hunter I was, and planned all my kills as such. As many crimes as I had committed, in mortal eyes, I did so hate to cause a commotion. Humans lose their delicate appeal when they take to running and screaming in a mob of hysteria.

A stout woman, short in stature, came waltzing across the parking lot from her car. She moved towards the door, passing within a few metres of where I stood, unnoticed. My face was darkened by the shadows of the trees around me, its alabaster glow hidden from view. She strode unemotionally to the front double door, looking into the pane of glass and putting on a smile for her reflection.

She carried a purse; it hung from the crook of her bent elbow by a dainty strap. Her skin folded at the neck a few more times than I deemed graceful, she was certainly not of my taste. She smelled like bitter floral perfume, and I could barely sense the vintage of her blood through it.

Just as she rested her hand on the handle of the door, I stepped forward, advancing on her. My boots clicked twice on the pavement and I was beside her, swiftly snatching the purse from where it rested at her hip. The movements seemed so slow to me, so thick with lethargy. But to her, she would barely feel a tug at the crease of her arm as the strap snapped and was pulled away. By the time she looked with a soft gasp over her shoulder, all she saw was the glint of fluorescent outdoor light on the heel of a highly polished boot. Even this, her mind would tell her eyes they never saw, and I was gone without a trace. Had she forgotten her purse in the car? She turned and strode briskly toward her white sedan to check.

My heart laughed with the ease of it, the precision of the execution. I opened the purse, reaching inside and drawing out a plastic card. The words and lettering of the logo that marked it matched the glowing sigil on the face of the building. The key. Perfect.

I walked again to the door, the woman still unceremoniously rifling through the contents of the backseat. I discarded the purse near the door, where she could have easily dropped it, had the strap mysteriously given out. I slid the card through the brown box on the doorjamb, pushing open the glass door as I saw the light flash green. I held it open just long enough to get the woman’s attention.

“Excuse me, ma’am, are you looking for your purse?” I waved a delicate hand at the bag on the ground and walked in as she nodded, enjoying myself entirely too much for not having opened any veins.

The hallway was carpeted thinly, just enough to muffle the sound of my boots. My footfalls were silenced, and I felt dangerous. I came upon the main lobby, and to my complete delight, it was dimly and incandescently lit, most of the light coming from the fireplace in the corner. My skin would not appear so unnaturally pale, I could walk amoung my prey without hesitance. A young woman stood at the desk, checking in. Her fragile frame was weighted by a large backpack, her legs bending slightly to support her burden. She spoke in the voice of a child, although she was obviously over twenty. I kept my distance, standing close enough to her to revel in the scent of her mortality, but far enough away to keep her nerves calm. I’ve tasted fear before, and it bitters the blood so remarkably that I’d almost prefer to take my victims in their sleep, were it not for my hunger for the hunt being equal to my hunger for the kill.

“Room five thirteen.” The dormant woman behind the desk said and handed her the key card. I smiled softly, watching the way her back moved, the slant of her neck as she walked with grace unknown to her down the hall to the elevator. Later, I thought to myself. Patience.

I walked the halls, just listening to the humans moving like mice in the walls and the sound of my own footsteps, although they were unquestioningly inaudible to everyone else. The air became stiff after a short while, caked with a harsh, bitter chemical. It made each breath I took sting my throat like bitter cold, remembered from a time when bitter cold was a problem. Chlorine. I was nearing the pool. I took a few more strides toward the foggy door, but my senses ceased to withstand the chemical stench comfortably.

I turned and started the way back to the lobby. I reached a hand into the pocket of my jacket, drawing from the silken interior a silver pocket watch, cradling it in my hand and looking into its shining face. Only ten thirty, but I could have guessed just as accurately from the feel of the air and the hue of the sky. The pocket watch was merely for show. I pocketed it carefully again, feeling the delicate chain rest against the side of my jacket, the end of it fastened to one of my silver buttons.

A garbage can sat in the corner of the lobby, a slender steel cylinder. As I walked by the receptacle, a man crossed my path very closely. He had just checked out, and as he pushed the door open, he tossed his now defunct key card absently in the direction of the waste can. As I missed brushing against the man’s retreating shoulder by only a few inches, my hand snapped out and grasped the card mid flight, thwarting its voyage to the steel trashcan. I placed it in my jacket pocket in the same instant and continued my unbroken gait to the front desk.

Beautiful, I thought to myself. Two keys already, but one of a marginally offensive woman and the other of a middle aged man who had just checked out. The only key I wanted belonged to that lovely little American girl who had just arrived. I wouldn’t settle for anything less. Not after such hours of travel, not after such scarce provisions.

I stepped up to the desk, preparing to correct my unfortunate situation.

“Excuse me, miss.” I said softly to the melancholy faced woman behind the desk. I presented the card that I had just swiped from the air and slid it across the highly polished varnish of the counter.

“My key doesn’t seem to work.” I gave her a little smile, and she looked skeptical. As her eyes met mine, however, something inside her woke up, telling her that this kind of malfunction happens all the time.

“No problem.” She muttered, taking the card and throwing it away. She brought up a new one from under the desk, looking to me again. “What’s your room number?”

“Five thirteen.” I said gently, and she hurriedly punched in the numbers on the machine before her, sliding the card into the side of it, and out again. She handed the key to me. “Thank you.” I said, stepping back away from the desk and turning on my heel, starting quickly up the hallway to my room.

There was a particular spring in my step as I advanced on the room, watching the little brass numbers to my right and left. I was already formulating tonight’s activities. Coming so far north in such an efficient manner was cause for celebration, I thought. I should take my time tonight, dine at my leisure, play with my food.

At last my eyes set upon the numbers I had awaited, and as I turned to face the door my dead heart leapt with devious glee. I slipped the card through the box on the door and opened it smoothly, my eyes catching the object of my intentions immediately. She was sitting at the little desk in the living room of the small apartment, elbows rested daintily upon its surface, reading a newspaper. Her legs were crossed at the knee, one bare foot tapping and swaying in the air. So engrossed was she in the paper, she hardly heard me enter the room.

I stood, waiting for her to see me, to sense the weight of my eyes on her back. She did so as I let the door shut and latch behind me. She gasped effeminately and looked at me with frightened eyes. The eyes of a mouse in a cage with a python, as if she already knew she would be prey for an indomitable killer.

Her voice was caught in her throat, her hands clenching the edge of the desk at which she sat. The edge of the newspaper crumpled in the grasp of her delicate fingers.

“Good evening, my dear.” I said softly, watching her pulse quicken under her skin.

“Who are you?” She accused, pushing her hands against the desk, scooting the chair away from it. I held up my hands, palms toward her.

“Please, don’t get up.” I said politely, moving into her little living room and perching in the chair by the entrance to the kitchen, between her and the door. “What is your name?”

“Who are you?” She said again, with a note of menace. Her rising tone was met only by a soft laugh. I looked at her, my eyes piercing hers, staring directly through to her mind. “Diana…” She said softly, disarmed by the glance.

“Diana. The goddess of the hunt.” I said, amused. How beautifully ironic. “My name is Christian, Diana. I’m afraid you’re not the hunter tonight.” She looked at me with a cold brown stare, calculating, fearful.

“Get out of my room.” She said strongly, far more strongly than I would have expected. Nice to have a live one, I thought.

“Now Diana, that’s awfully inhospitable for you to say.” I stared into her again, her strength fading as quickly as it had manifested.

“What do you want?” She asked meekly, trying to pull her eyes from mine, and failing pitifully in her attempts.

“I want merely to play a game with you, Diana. My favourite game. I suppose that’s due to the fact that… I usually win.” I said with a grin that she instantly drew back from, leaning into her chair as if it would swallow her up. She said nothing, so I continued, rising to my feet and picking up a glass from the dining room table. I walked back towards her, throwing the glass from one hand to the other, its surface clicking against my rings.

“Now there are two ways the game can begin, Diana, and two ways that it can end.” I sat back down in the chair, watching her with a calm and courteous visage. “Are you paying attention, Diana?” I asked. She nodded, hands still frozen by the fingertips to the desktop. “Good.” I leaned back, holding the glass in one hand, resting its base on the arm of the chair. “The first way that it can start is the easy way. You can accept your fate, and give up.” She interrupted.

“Which is?” She asked although she surely knew the answer. Her voice held the shakiness of a child’s, and it endeared me.

“Death.” I said flatly. “That is one way that this game will end, Diana. The most common way. You forfeit, and you die.” I think she almost screamed, to which I held a hand up in protest. “Just listen, please. Hold the theatrics, my dear, until you know all of the rules.” She nodded hastily, her skin beginning to sweat coldly, her nerves like ice. “You may also choose to play the game through with me. I find it’s so much more fun that way, Diana… wouldn’t you tend to agree?” She made no response. I stood again from my chair, throwing the glass into my other hand. I approached her, and she shrank from me, turning her face away from mine as if I was some repugnant beast.

“So which is it, my dear? Would you like to die now, or will you play the game with me?” I asked finally, bringing my hand very close to the skin of her shoulder, but not touching it.

“I’ll play…” She said, her voice tiny and wavering. She was visibly trembling. I smiled softly at her again, although I knew that my expression wouldn’t put her at ease.

“Very well, Diana.” I grinned, extremely pleased with the way things were sorting themselves out. “This is how it’s played.” I placed my hand on her wrist, pulling it gently away from the desk. Tears pushed their way out of her eyes, streaming down her face in a quiet sob. I punctured her wrist with the nail of my thumb, holding the glass beneath her arm to catch the blood as it poured from the gash. Her voice rose into her throat, and I glared at her.

“You may not scream. To scream is to cheat, Diana.” She bit her lip, nearly drawing blood herself. I watched the glass fill, and as soon as it was full to the top edge of the facets, I pushed my thumb onto her wound and held her arm up to stop the bleeding. Leaning back against the desk with her wrist in one hand and the glass in the other, I took a sip and watched her.

“This is the game, my dear. I’m going to visit your room several times tonight. I won’t tell you when. Every time I arrive, I get a glass of your blood.” She made a terrible face, and I scowled at it. “There are three main rules, Diana.” I took another sip from my glass. “Terribly simple, really. You may not scream, you may not contact another soul, and you may not leave this room.” She began to shake again, her hand fluttering in my grasp like a captured bird. I could feel the warmth of her blood slowly curing my fever.

“Now, as I said before, there are two ways this game can end. Every time I visit you, I will give you the chance to forfeit. You can die at any time, if you so desire. However, if you choose to keep playing, you have a chance of living. A very small chance, Diana, but a chance. If you survive me until sunrise, you’ve won. I won’t return, and you can leave, without fear of being apprehended by me. If you win, Diana, you will never see me again. I promise you this. If you don’t survive, then I win.” I paused, raising the edge of my thumb to check the puncture. It had stopped bleeding. “Do you understand?” She nodded nervously again, staring at her wrist. Her face paled with weeping, she looked up at me with timid, pleading eyes.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because I have to. Necessity’s a bitch, isn’t it, Diana?” She started sobbing again and I placed a hand on her shoulder, leaving a bloody thumbprint on her linen shirt. She looked up and over her shoulder at me, but I had turned and began to walk about her living room, one arm behind my back, the other holding the glass of blood like wine at a wedding. I approached the sliding glass doors to the balcony. It was ringed with a white railing and furnished with a small table and two folding wooden chairs. It looked out over the large field behind the building and beyond that, the ocean. I walked out onto the balcony and looked down at the grass below me. Her room was three floors up, a fall that she could never survive if she opted to take her own life before it was stolen from her.

“There is a beautiful moon out tonight, Diana. You really should come take a look.” I said, leaning against the railing. I glanced into the living room again, and there she stood, terrified. She wielded a significantly sized kitchen knife and had been advancing on me, until my gaze had stopped her dead in her tracks. I gave a raucous chuckle and spread my arms, grinning at her.

“Oh, Diana. You can’t kill me, that’s not part of the game! Please, put the knife down.” Her hand moved automatically over, dropping the knife onto the table. “Very well, my dear. Now come and look at this moon.” She shuffled her bare feet over the rug, her shoulders slack. She nearly tripped over the threshold, but caught herself on the railing.

“Be careful, Diana. I wouldn’t want you getting hurt on my account.” I put an arm around her shoulders and looked up at the sky again. The moon was a gleaming disk, a porthole in the cloud-shadowed hull of the sky.

Her throat issued a breathy groan, a hopeless sound. I smiled at the moon, its glowing relief etched in more clarity to my eyes than to those of any other creature. It was as if the moon would show its true face to me alone, a secret from one power of the night to another.

I let twenty minutes pass before I made my way back to Diana’s room. I had walked about the field for a time, just breathing in the sounds and smells of the night, my senses keener than they had been earlier with the replenishment of my source of energy. Her blood was sweet, and I mused upon the taste of it to myself, thinking how lovely a job I was doing with this one. She was a perfect choice, a vessel with honey in her veins.

Upon my return to the apartment, I found a little slip of hotel stationary paper before her door in the hall. A little note she had written in the penmanship of a child in her terror and slipped under the door, hoping that someone would pass by and take notice. I leaned over and picked it up, reading the scrawled message.

I am being held hostage in my

 room. There is a man who will

come back to kill me soon.

 Please help me.

          I slipped my hand quickly into my jacket pocket, producing the key card and entering the room with quick strides, holding the little paper high for her to see.

          She was lying on her back on the bed, staring up at the stucco ceiling. As soon as she heard the door click shut, her head turned quickly to me, a look of defeated shock on her face.

          “Diana, Diana, Diana…” I began my reprimands in a tone of severe scorn. “Have you forgotten the rules, my dear? You are not to contact another soul. Not even to attempt to. You’ve cheated.” I said, standing beside her bed with the paper held in front of her face, her own pleading words now mocking her as evidence that she had done wrong.

          “Please…” She began, but stopped, a sob wracking her frame as she sat up wearily.

          “There is a punishment for cheating, Diana.” I growled at her, snatching up a glass from the table. She stared up at me, brown eyes wet and dark. “I get two glasses.” I finished with a smile, advancing on her and catching her wrist up in my hand like a moth. She tried to pull her arm from my grasp, whimpering pitifully.

          “I’m sorry, I’m sorry… please don’t… please…” She whined, fearing her punishment.

          “Quiet.” I said to her over my shoulder. “Give me quiet.” I looked back to her little hand, now curled into a fist. She was bracing herself for the pain of my attack. She learns quickly, I thought, and stabbed my thumbnail a little more harshly than necessary into her wrist, this time tearing it through sideways a little to make a larger hole than the one I had issued to her other arm. She whimpered, her little body shaking as burning tears expelled themselves violently from her eyes. I filled the glass, then wrapped my hand about her wrist and held it up, careful not to let her blood mar the crisp white of my shirt cuff.

          I took a long drink from the glass, emptying it halfway. As I was letting the warmth and richness of it envelop me, a tremulous voice interrupted.

          “You’re a monster.” She said, her lips dry from crying and pulled back from her teeth in disbelief, her brow pinched down over her dark little doll eyes.

          “Now Diana, really. You don’t believe in such things, do you?” I asked her gently, picking up her other wrist in my hand and looking it over with bemused admiration. Her skin was so smooth, without marks or scars. Now she would have some scars, some visual interest to the placid plain of her skin.

I reopened the wound from earlier, and she hissed a breath in through her teeth as if she hadn’t been ready for the pain. They’re never really ready for the pain, even if they have felt that exact pain before. The moment of the strike is indescribable by the human brain, and every time it endures the moment, it must reconstruct the feeling. Luckily, most humans only learn the feeling of it once.

I filled another glass, setting it down on the desk.

“I may not even drink that one.” I mused, watching her, holding her wrists in my hands. “So much all at once, it’s just not as good. Terrible waste, really.” I let her wrists go, standing and lifting the half empty glass from the desk, then leaning back to watch her as I drank from it at my leisure.

“What business are you in, my dear?” I asked politely. I could tell that she was a businesswoman by her attire and the contents of her room. Probably just starting out, I noticed, from her attitude. No one so meek could have made it far as of yet.

“I’m a legal secretary.” She said weakly.

          “I see.” I said, studying the pallor of her face, the unsteady waver to her arms as she leaned on them, hunching over, pressing her hands to her knees. “Do you enjoy it?” I said with genuine curiosity.

          “Yes… kind of. It pays well.” She mumbled, looking down at the floor.

          “It’s important to enjoy what you do. Too many give up their happiness for financial security.” I said, draining the glass in punctuation. “I enjoy what I do very much.” I said to her, setting the glass back on the desk and lifting the second one, looking into the dark red fluid. It had thickened a bit with standing so long, and I knew I wouldn’t drink it. It was long since cold. I held it anyway, gesturing with it as I spoke.

          “I should really be going, Diana. It’s been nice, my dear.” I said, stepping lightly across the room before her, glass in hand. “I’ll be back.” I added more cheerfully than she would have liked. She watched me from the edge of the bed, hands gripping her knees. I set down the glass on the end table under a lamp, taking a second to admire how the light played in the rich crimson liquid. I stepped out onto the balcony, and with a wave to my frightened companion grasped the railing. I leapt nimbly over the side, without a sound, releasing my hand and dropping the three stories into the field, my jacket fluttering about me like the wings of a velvet bat.

          The ocean called to me, its chill waters rising over a crest of rounded stones and washing through them with a beautiful crackling whisper. I stood on the embankment; my boots planted in the windswept grasses, and declined to step onto the sand of the beach, perhaps for the sake of my boots and my not wishing to disrupt their perfect glassy polish. I stood like a statue in homage to the god of the sea, looking out onto the cresting waves and the streak of glittering moonlight that spilled onto the living glass of the ocean.

          I don’t know how long I stood there, still and quiet as a birch tree, unobtrusive completely. I drew my pocket watch from the silken lining of my jacket, studying the light on the face of it for a moment before really reading the time. Midnight. As if planned by some divine playwright, the perfect time for paying a visit to my little mouse had arrived.

          “It’s midnight, my dear.” I called into her apartment, leaning in on the open door to peer with a genuine grin at her. My mind still spun, my body still buzzed from her honey sweet blood, I was feeling very much myself. I stormed into the room towards her in a whirl of jacket and a flash of mirror shiny boots, stopping at her bed where she lay again on her back, reaching out my hand for hers. She knew I didn’t mean to help her up, or kiss her knuckle, but rather to gouge my nail into her wrist as I had done before. Still the charm was on and the smile was broad, and perhaps because I held not a glass in my other hand, she lifted her hand from the bed and offered it to me.

          I admired her trust that was so innocent, albeit foolish. Because of this endearment to a gentle creature falling willingly into a cruel trap, I chose not to make swift my strike upon her just yet. Instead, I lifted her arm, pulling her up to sit, supporting her back with my other hand. Her skin even felt cool against mine, although earlier it hadn’t been so. The blush and warm fervor of her life had been transferred, out of her and into me.

          “The hour is midnight, Diana.” I repeated, for her eyes held no recognition of my voice. She had reached that terrible numb state, where her blood had receded just enough from her nerves and mind that she no longer really paid attention to either. “What ever is the matter, Diana?” I asked of her sweetly, setting beside her on the edge of the bed. She had no answer for me, only a slight sideward movement of her head that repeated itself twice. “Do you wish to end this now?” I asked, inquiring of her so simply something that to her meant everything. Life or death. It is a choice for the human race, which is ignorant to the fact that you can indeed have both.

          “No… I’m going to play, Christian.” She said solemnly, not chancing a look into my eyes. I was thankful for this lack of eye contact, for I would have looked surprised. Hardly ever do my conquests remember my name. If they do, they never use it. The familiarity was unusual, the fact that she would call me by my name and do so without measurable fear. What startled me more was that she continued to speak, without my having time to respond to her out of the ordinary comment. “I’m going to play, Christian, and I’m going to win.” She said as strongly as her exhaustion, terror, and blood loss would allow. At this, of course, I had to save face with a laugh.

          “Nice to see you’re still up for the challenge, my dear Diana, but you won’t win.” At this I abandoned the small talk and the kindness, getting back to the business of things. I reached for the table and picked up a glass, the same kind of large round glass that I had been using. “Now it is the hour of midnight, my dear.” I had regained the power; I could see it in her face, the color rushing from it as she saw the glass, saw me flex my fingers inward as if they were the claws of a predator. In a way, they were. “It is a powerful time… and I like to celebrate. What better way…” I plucked her hand from where it rested on her leg, watching her wince as I deftly reopened the now very aggravated wound. “What better way to celebrate than with a fine glass of red, my dear?”

          I filled the glass higher than I had been filling them, up to the very top, until I was afraid it would spill. I closed my hand over her bleeding wrist, drinking my fill from the glass while it remained warm. I felt her eyes staring into me as I straightened, standing, warm glass held firmly in my hand. I released her wrist and looked to her with a hint of inquiry. She answered the curiosity put forth silently by the look I gave her.

          “Why can’t I win?” She challenged, holding her own wrist although it had already stopped bleeding. “You said that I had a chance. That it was possible.” She said, her glassy brown eyes glaring at me from under her lowered brow.

          “Because I’m the predator, Diana.” I said to her, trying not to sound impatient. “You’re the prey. This is the way of nature.” She bit off the end of my sentence as if she was the bloodthirsty one.

          “But it isn’t! It isn’t nature. You’re not natural. You’re… supernatural! A monster!” She babbled in squealing outbursts. I snapped at her as she had at me, lifting the glass with emphasis.

          “Quiet, Diana. If someone hears you, then you’ve cheated again. And you know what happens when you cheat.” I pushed my hair back with my free hand partly in frustration, but mostly to define my arrogance. She bit her tongue, as I figured she would, drawing into herself in a slouch. I finished the glass and stepped briskly over to the sliding doors, pressing a hand to one of them for a moment before shoving it open and disappearing over the side of the balcony.

          I once more wandered that stretch of rolling field, walking along the edge of the dune that sloped down onto the beach. I walked quickly, my hands thrust into the pockets of my jacket. She had gotten so personal, and ignored her fear. For just a moment she had control, but a moment was enough. I couldn’t be losing my touch; of course, she was just a particularly hardheaded little secretary.

I could hear her now, though, as I stood in the lamplight a few metres away from the balcony. She was breathing in heavy laboured sighs, breath coming to her with more effort than she was expecting. I allowed a grin access to my face, knowing that she would pay for her little outburst soon enough.

It was hardly past the witching hour and I had still many hours left to let her lie in wait, nervous all the time in the dreaded anticipation of my impending visit. She was weary and scared still, her nerves gripped by the icy hands of her own device. She awaited my return; it was almost as though she wished I’d stay there. At least that way she’d know where I was.

Her paranoia was working in such a wonderful way with her, that I decided to walk along the dune for longer. Let her wait; let her be frantic. Let her look over her shoulder every time the wind blows. One of those times, it will be me.

I stood by the ocean for a few hours, although it felt like far longer. The colour of the sky betrayed the approaching light, the end of the night and the beginning of the sun’s travel into day. As I was checking my pocket watch, I got caught up in admiring it. I dangled the chain from where it was entwined with my fingers and let it hang, watching the precision of its movement, the shine of its silver housing. I could hear it over the crash and babble of the approaching and receding waves, its tiny cogs turning in perfect synchronization.

My mind swam with all the possibilities of the world again, and I knew that I had drank enough of her potent and succulent blood to awaken that sense of wonder that every vampire possesses, although some choose to repress it. I felt the edge of this awe of everything, and wished immediately to sink further in, or rather to venture into it with more fuel to guide me.

So I returned to the apartment, this time letting myself become temporarily feral to climb the latticework of the balcony. It took but a moment, but I felt rather unlike myself in doing it. I hated to muss my clothing, but I didn’t wish to raise suspicion among the other tenants by constantly entering the apartment through the door, but seldom leaving by its means.

Diana was perched on the edge of the nondescript chair at the desk, the telephone brought up to her ear, her little hand entangled with the spiraling cord. I slammed the glass door behind me, and approached her with calm swiftness.

“Remind me never to play cards with you, Diana.” I said gently, taking the phone from her ear and replacing it on the cradle. Her hand was still caught up in the cord, and I took it by the wrist, pulling it free and holding it before me, picking up a glass. “You cheat terribly. I would think that you’d learn, my dear.” I punctured her wrist unceremoniously and let it begin to drain into the glass, watching her all the time. “You’re making this so difficult on yourself, Diana.” I said with a subtly mocking brand of concern. “But if that’s the way you’d like to play, I’m not one to stop you. It only makes the game more interesting for me.” I punctuated my remark with an incredibly satisfying pull from the glass. It seemed her blood only grew sweeter the more I took from her.

She collapsed back into the chair, her spine arching, shoulders jutting forward. Both cuffs of her white linen shirt were now donned with reddish brown lace, and a few streaks of the colour were present elsewhere on the lightweight fabric.

“Don’t pass out on me yet, Diana. I’ve got one more before I leave you again.” I said, finishing off the glass and reaching for her other wrist, holding her arm out straight. Both of my hands were occupied, one with the glass and one with the vessel that would soon fill it, and I wished to set neither down. Out of convenience, I brought my mouth to her skin and bit into the already wounded flesh of her wrist. She looked up at me now in shock, as if I had done something truly atrocious. I had, of course, but this was nothing new.

“You… bit me…” She mumbled, voice as weary as her eyes.

“I’m very much aware, Diana. Vampires tend to do so.” I said; preoccupied with filling my glass again from the somewhat slower current that issued from her delicate wrist.

“You didn’t… bite me before…” She noted curiously, pausing between words to catch air into her hungry lungs.

“No, I didn’t.” I said, pressing my thumb over the wound again and holding up her arm considerately as I’d been doing. “I don’t know where you’ve been.” I looked to her face finally, and saw that her eyelids were darkly veined and drooping ever lower. I smiled at her, leaning back against the desk and holding out a hand to catch her as she nearly fell forward onto the floor.

“Diana, you’re not looking well.” I mentioned casually, taking a leisurely sip of my life-containing beverage. She slumped to the side, leaning at an awkward angle on the desk. “That hardly looks comfortable, my dear.” I added, letting the last couple of ounces of thick potent blood pour into my mouth.

I set down my glass, moving beside her and lifting her up like a baby, one arm behind her back, the other under her knees. Her head tilted back, her arms hung limply down. Little fingers pointed to the floor. I carefully set her down on the bed. I reached a blood-warmed hand out to the side of her neck, resting the tips of my middle and fourth fingers on the vein of her throat. She was still alive, heart groggily pulling one way and another in a lethargic rhythm. She was even still breathing. Her breath was shallow, but unmistakable.

I leaned down towards her, my mouth very close to her ear, and spoke in a soft whisper into her semi conscious mind.

“You’re going to die, Diana, if you don’t wake up. Fair warning. I’m going to visit you once more tonight. If you can survive me then, I will disappear. If not, you know what happens. Until then…” I softened my voice even lower. “Sweet dreams.”

I walked out onto her balcony, slipping over the side like a passing shadow.

I moved around to the front of the building this time, thinking a change of scenery necessary. The car park was hardly scenery, but when you’ve seen as many years as I, the evolution of man’s technology is just as awe inspiring as any ocean or forest.

I took a stroll down the road a ways, watching the trees change from the stubby trimmed pines of the domesticated condominium landscaping to the lofty cedars that still sang their windswept melodies.

On my way back to the building I found my pace quickening, as if in anticipation. I let myself walk faster, as I hadn’t meant to do, and simply laughed at my own human characteristics showing through. Terribly unlike any vampire I know to be impatient. That kind of outlook doesn’t get you anywhere in immortality. We have time for everything.

I came upon room five thirteen by way of the hall, as I had done the first time I had approached it. I slipped the key card in and out of the slot and pushed open the door as quietly as I could, which was nearly silent.

Diana was still lying on the bed, just as I had left her. Were it not for the feeble resonance of her pulse tapping lightly at my keen ears, I would have thought her dead.

“I’ve returned, Diana.” I said simply, closing the door to the hallway as gently as I had opened it. She said nothing, but as I stepped close to the bed her head rolled to the side, glazed eyes drifting in my direction although I knew she couldn’t focus them. Her skin was like chalk, her mouth agape and breathing in low, forced breaths.

I pulled the chair from the desk over to her bedside, leaning forward with my elbows set on my knees. I watched her closely.

“This is the end of the game, Diana.” I said, reaching for a glass on the end table. She let out a quiet moan, the only sound that she could convince to leave her throat. I picked up her wrist slowly from where it rested on her stomach, biting into it again simply because I felt it suitable. Others are smart enough not to question my methods, why should I?

She hardly winced at the pain, her nerves dead and receded further back than allowed her to feel my teeth puncturing her skin.

I held her arm low as it filled the glass, looking down at the concentric circles bursting towards the edges of the glass with each drop.

As soon as it was full, I set her arm back beside her, not bothering to stop her wound from bleeding. A small red spot appeared beneath her hand, and she did nothing about it. Her dark eyes simply stayed trained on me as I drank away her life.

As soon as it was finished, I set the glass down and just watched her eyes for a minute, perhaps two. They no longer blinked. They no longer moved. I reached a hand forward and slid her eyelids closed over them.

“Goodnight, Diana.” I said quietly, smiling at her peaceful face, her fragile frame now undisturbed by the motion of breathing. She was perfect like that, like a doll or a painting, still and pale and finite.

I picked up a paperboard card from the end table, looking over it. On one side, a patron satisfaction survey. I stood, turning it over in my hand. The other side wore broad block letters across its middle in a cheerful band.

“I win.” I said with hushed triumph and tossed the paperboard card onto the bed. It landed beside her hand, the corner of it sticking down in the syrupy puddle that was forming beneath it.

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