Blood Type

[J.L Hunter]

Central Avenue was busy.
Cars lined either side of the two lane street, tires hugged the lip of the sidewalk because the driver’s didn’t know how to –or were too lazy to- parallel park. Eric couldn’t find a place to park his own car; about ten minutes ago he had traveled up and down this long road in vain attempts to come across one, so instead he opted for E street which was two blocks over and to his surprise was almost entirely vacant.
He parked his car, a dusty old mechanics’ rig-job with faded paint; the bumper didn’t match the original blue giving the impression that whoever had owned the car beforehand had rear-ended someone and the dealership had simply resolved the problem by slapping on a bright red bumper that had been lying around. He unlatched his seatbelt and got out, the door slammed with an all too audible clang that echoed throughout the street. A couple of teenagers in bikinis on the other side of the street looked around, startled, to see where the sound had come from. Used to the impression his car, which he couldn’t tell the make of (he simply called it Frankenstein’s monster), Eric made no gesture toward the onlookers. He walked over to the coin meter and dropped three quarters in. The current economic slump had left the town in tatters, suggesting everything in gods name to increase in price, including a nice cold soda and being able to park your car wherever the hell you wanted to.
Regardless of his mental complaints, as he rarely complained out loud, he did most of it in the safety of his own mind, he walked the cracked and weed ridden sidewalk. Being noon, the sun was at its most relentless position in the sky, beating down like an endless barrage of invisible fire-balls. Shimmering heat poured off the tops of the cars like ghosts dancing to some exotic song, they distorted the buildings at the far end of the street when Eric looked through them. This made them just that much more majestic and eerie.
E. street cut right through the middle of down-town, meeting with Central Avenue about three blocks ahead. Most of the buildings were of the colonial age architecture, and some of them that stood near the river ahead had not been refurbished since the mid eighteen hundreds. The others had been knocked down and re-built to the oncoming standards of copper wiring and proper insulation. Some of them that Eric passed seemed to be on their way to deterioration all on their own. Eric felt a wave of sadness for the men that had made these buildings so long ago, and now they are left alone with none to care for their historic importance.
He was in mid thought when he realized he was at the corner of E and Bering Street, he took a right. Bering Street was becoming more and more cluttered with shiny cars as the day progressed, Eric figured it wouldn’t be long before the line of cars would wrap around and congest the quiet street around the corner. One block down and he was where he had started, it seemed ridiculous that he would have to walk all that way, and go through so much trouble just for an appointment he knew very little about. He made a mental note to let someone know of his inconvenience. It was entirely improper to call someone, urging an appointment in the first place, let alone the hour they had called was absurd, three o’clock in the morning his phone had rung constantly.
The man’s name was Barrow, the lady on the phone didn’t specify whether or not he had a surname or if that was his surname. To the receptionist he was neither Mr. nor Mrs. Eric hoped to God he wasn’t the latter. In his barely awake state of mind he fumbled for the phone, dropped it once, leaned over the bed in a strained attempt to retrieve it and almost fell to the ground. He steadied himself with the nightstand and swept up the phone.
He clicked the okay button (a feat that would have been impossible in the dark room except that he had done so about a thousand times before).
“H-hello?”
The voice on the other end of the line was quick and crisp despite the early hour, “Am I speaking with Mr. Gaines?”
He hesitated for a second. Who would be calling at this hellish time? “Um, yes, this is he; may I ask who is calling?”
“This is the Central Avenue Donation Center, and our supervisor, Barrow, has requested a private audience with you Mr. Gaines.”
She seemed to trail off, as if expecting Eric’s next statement, “I’m sorry, you must have the wrong person, got it mixed up with someone else’s paperwork, I’m sorry.” Eric had never even heard of the Central Avenue Donation Center. It sounded like a big fat hoax. He was just about to hang up the phone when the sharp, feminine voice shot through the speaker.
“Yes, we anticipated your response to be, let me say, unwilling,” the woman paused, he could hear paper work being shuffled on the other end, “but let me assure you that you will not want to miss this interview. You see, we deal in the collection and transportation of specific organs to their appropriate recipients; we also deal in the collection and storage of rare blood types, and you Mr. Gaines have a very rare and special blood type indeed.”
As soon as she had stopped talking Eric could hear the rapid clicking of keys on a keyboard. He had been trying very hard to pin-point her accent, it was neither British, nor Scandinavian, but kind of a mixture of both with a little Ukrainian mixed in. Eric was entirely awake now, he looked over to the alarm clock which shown it was about three fifteen. He let the last words the woman had spoken sink in. Ever since he was a child he had been diagnosed with a rare blood disorder that slowed down the absorption of iron into the blood stream. Every six months he had to go to the doctor and get a very painful shot in his right shoulder.
The doctors had always told him it was, special. With that they would smile and give him an orange sucker. The suckers had eventually, as he grew older, become hard and uncomfortable pats on the back.
This reminded him of those times. Although the doctors had said it with a sort of nervous contemplation, nervous at the fact that their knowledge had been tested by something new and ultimately incurable, the woman he was speaking with didn’t seem worried or nervous at all. She seemed to Eric to be completely calm, without the hint of a doctor’s pride crumbling to the ground. The woman was strange, articulate with a slightly humorous tinge to her voice.
“I’m sorry, this is very strange, and it’s early, I’m having trouble absorbing all of this.”
The endless clicking stopped abruptly, “We know, and we do apologize for calling so early, but we do know that you tend to leave your phone in your bedroom when you get up to have your cup of coffee and often forget it after you close the door.”
The humor was definitely there, Eric could sense it amidst his mind running back and forth, trying to comprehend what the woman had just told him, which was all in all, entirely correct.
“What did you just say?”
“Never mind that, we are not stalkers, we are just privy to a substantially large amount of knowledge, especially concerning our clients.”
Eric’s head raced, “I have no idea who you people are, but quite honestly this is becoming very strange.”
The woman clicked a few times on the keyboard, “Yes, I would assume it would seem very odd indeed. But I want you to understand something Mr. Gaines, we are entirely reputable, and I am not lying to you when I say that you want very much to speak with Barrow. We have, how do I say, in the past paid handsomely for our anticipated client’s cooperation.”
“How much are we talking about?” Eric for the first time during the conversation was interested.
“Let me just say that for one pint of your blood Mr. Gaines, is worth two thousand dollars.”
Eric almost dropped the phone, two thousand dollars, that was more than he made at his measly job in two months. Now everything became clear, why these people were so interested in getting him to come in and speak with this Barrow, a doctor of some sort. It was probably why he had never heard of it before; the place was probably so prestigious that no one was allowed near the place if there wasn’t something that the company needed from them.
“O-okay, what time do you want me to come in?” He stammered.
There was more shuffling of paperwork. “Will tomorrow at Noon be alright for you?”
Eric did not hesitate, “Absolutely, I’ll be there.”
The woman hung up the phone first, Eric Gaines merely sat there on the edge of his bed with the phone still held up to his ears, and mouth hung agape like an idiot. Now that he looked back at yesterday morning, the more Eric realized that he had accepted the offer much too easily. He had accepted it solely with dollar signs in front of his eyes, seeing absolutely nothing else. He had given blood before, it had been a terrible experience, the only reason he was there was to pay an overdue light bill. There was a run down place on the other side of town that he had gone to; he waited in a room for about three hours full of crack addicts and drug abusers that spent the last bit of rent on their latest fix. He felt very uncomfortable, dirty, and he had to **** like crazy.
He crossed Central Avenue, watching for cars as he did so. Once safely on the other side he pulled out a folded piece of paper with the number and address he had scribbled quickly as the lady on the phone told him where to go. The barely legible handwriting said it was located on 1746 Central Avenue. He looked up to the fenced in house straight ahead of him, the numbers on the mailbox read he was at 1758. The numbers, (also on the sidewalk) decreased if he took a left, so that is where he went.
The sidewalk took him to the business district of town. Cars sped past, weaving into gaps on the side of the road where cars weren’t parked. Many people were on the sidewalk, probably doing the same thing he was.
After about five minutes he stopped, realizing the numbers on the sidewalk where he stood were the same as the numbers on the sheet of paper he still held in his left hand. He turned in a ninety degree angle and found himself face to face with one of the most stunning buildings in town. He wondered how he had never seen this building before, and wondered crazily how in gods name he had not spotted it just now.
The building was white, with black as night windows that set in the walls not in the traditional square style of most windows, but zigzagged across it in slanted triangular, Picasso-like custom. The building itself stood a good five stories above the rest and was separated by a parking lot that wrapped entirely around the building. A few cars sat in the parking lot, other than that it was completely empty, and silent, the constant drumming of motors passing seemed to not penetrate the invisible walls of the parking lot. He couldn’t help noticing the cars were of sportsman quality, a yellow Porsche, a black Volvo. Parked near the entrance was a startling red Dodge Challenger with white racing stripes running down its slick body.
Eric looked up when he had finally ended his venture across the spacious blacktop parking lot. The pearly white infrastructure towered high above him, its tremendous monolithic architecture cut razor sharp across the deep blue sky. Eric almost thought the edges of the building were sharp enough to actually pierce the sky, opening up a hole in the world like a balloon that had just been struck with a needle-tip, if the building would move on its foundation just a fraction of an inch the sky would be ripped open and the entire world would be sucked up into the endless vacuum of space.
He took a deep breath and opened one of the many glass doors, and entered.
The lobby was bright, spacious; the ceiling arched high above him like a gigantic glass canopy. The white marble floors glimmered in the sunlight that seemed to illuminate everything white in the room. As Eric walked toward the large mahogany desk that was the only conflicting piece of furniture in the place, he noticed the huge glass walls that made up each of the far sides of the room, at all four corners stood white stone pillars reaching high up to the glass canopy overhead. The room was cold also, too cold Eric thought to himself as he finally made it to the receptionist.
She sat sideways, her body facing Eric, but her head focused on the large flat-screen computer to her right. At first he thought that he had approached her unnoticed, despite the fact that he was the only one in the large room. His footsteps must have made some sound as he trotted toward her. Then, almost as if she was reading his mind she turned around. He was almost taken aback when he saw her face; like everything else her pearl-white skin seemed to glimmer in the dazzling light as if she were her own source of energy. As if to completely contrast her glistening features, streams of bright red hair hung shoulder length on either side of her sharp face.
He thought he would be unable to speak, which would be incredibly horrible, but not too far from a possibility. He fought with his tongue for a few seconds and then finally found the words, “Hello, I’m Eric Gaines, you called me for an interview.” After he said it, he realized it had sounded much like a question.
She smiled slightly, “Yes, let me see,” she craned her long neck to the computer screen once more, “Okay, Barrow will be out shortly, please take a seat over there.” The receptionist nodded her head toward an area that Eric had apparently missed before with about three or four cushioned office chairs. He now realized that this was the same woman that he had talked with on the phone. Eric smiled, and headed off to one of the chairs closest to one of the magnificent pillars. He sat and looked around. The lobby seemed like a glorified modern office intermingled with a gothic cathedral set in the dark ages.
The glass ceiling was paneled like the windows outside were, with various triangular shapes that seemed to redirect the sunlight to shine in crisscrossing rays, cascading down to the marble floor. Beyond the magnificent appeal that the room had on the eyes, the stunning visuals, the beautiful architecture that seamlessly integrated past, present, and future all in one, there was something that made Eric uneasy. It something he couldn’t exactly put his finger on, something that gnawed nervously at the back his mind. He redirected his thoughts and stored them in the non-important category.
He looked back at the auburn receptionist; she didn’t look back at him, instead she continued rapping away on the keyboard ignorantly. He looked down at his watch, which told him it was about a quarter till two. There was a brief silence, as the clicking of keyboards stopped. He heard a door slide open; Eric looked around and saw a large, looming figure, standing by the mahogany desk, whispering something to the receptionist.
The large statuesque man turned toward Eric and began to walk toward him. His feet strangely made no sound on the marble floor, and crossed the room in no more than three seconds. Eric figured he must have some really soft shoes.
Barrow sat in one of the chairs in front of Eric, immediately settling in and crossing one leg over the other professionally. He was a handsome man, but by no means beautiful, his skin unlike the receptionist did not strike Eric as stunning or breathtaking, merely pallid and dry, like chalk. His dark brown hair combed back, it glistened as well, not naturally though, but from hair gel or mousse. Eric felt that his impression of the man was only in contrast with his powerful demeanor, and his sharp eagle-like blue eyes.
For a moment he only sat there, peering into Eric’s eyes, unblinking, unmoving. He now looked almost as if he were a statue. Barrow seemed to be evaluating Eric, understanding him, using that first impression basis as a deciding factor for the first of a series of tests he would be administering. This was merely speculation, but Eric figured it was more truth than theory.
At last he spoke, his voice smooth and cunning, like the woman on the phone, the receptionist; it seemed to be mixed with British authority and a hint of Russian or Ukrainian
“I’ve been waiting for you to come. I’m so glad you decided to do so.” He smiled broadly.
“I’m sorry I’m late, traffic is terrible out there.”
“I suppose next time you’ll take advantage of our serviceable parking area.”
Eric shifted in his seat.
“Well, let’s get down to business, shall we? Do you know what we do here?”
Hesitating for a moment, Eric said, “The woman on the phone told me you donate, like organs and blood, that kind of stuff.”
“Yes, that kind of stuff,” Barrow teased. “We do much more than that I can very much assure you, but for now that description of our business will suffice.”
Eric could see out of his peripheral vision that the woman at the desk had left, either that or she was hiding under it for some reason, he couldn’t remember hearing the door sliding open.
Barrow’s eyes never left Eric’s. Like a predator, never letting its prey out of its sight, he watched every movement Eric made, and from that he could very much tell what Eric was thinking. It was not telepathy, but merely extreme observation, every predator was well equipped with more than adequate observational skills.
He continued, “Let me elaborate. What you’re doing here is to make a bountiful contribution to our organization Mr. Gaines. We are so much more than merely some donation center that keeps the contributions our clients give in a vault where it will sit until someone undergoing heart surgery needs a heart. However admirable that may be, it is just not what we do. We use the contributions as a means of study, particularly rarities that people can very much live without.”
Silence for a long time. The thick glass walls produced no sound from the world beyond. Eric could see from the wall next to him the street, cars went to and fro, and people mindlessly passed on the sidewalk, without even a momentary glance at the stunning building in which he was currently sitting.
“Your blood for instance, or rather what is inside of your blood, the plasma that carries the cells to where they need to go, well, for you Mr. Gaines that plasma is extremely valuable and can be researched to find brand new cures for the most inoperable diseases.” Barrow’s eyes began to widen, excitedly. “We will be able to begin immediately, as soon as you consent. You will be out of here in no more than two hours with half a million dollars wired to your bank account.”
Eric’s heart almost stopped beating. Half a million dollars, had he been joking? There was absolutely no way that that much money could even exist. Eric knew better than that, but it was a lot of money, and not even a quarter of that number he ever expected to have at one time at all in his life. There was a part of him deep down that suspected fraud, wondering if the man that sat in front of him was going to kill him, but with one look around the magnificent cathedral-like lobby and from the sight of the building from the outside. Even from looking at Barrow himself and the grey three piece suit he wore, there was absolutely no way they wouldn’t have the money to give one client half a million dollars.
Sitting absolutely still, Barrow waited patiently at the reaction that he normally got from his first-time clients. Eric began to settle down, his breathing slowed, his pulse returning to normal. Eric closed his eyes and relaxed even further. Barrow knew exactly what was running through the boy’s mind, but waiting still for the words. Again, it had absolutely nothing to do with telepathy, but observation.
Finally Eric said, “Alright. I’ll do it.”
Barrow grinned, “Follow me then.”
He led Eric through the doors which he had entered through before. The dark glass hissed apart, revealing a long hallway resembling a hospital wing. A few men in white smocks walk in and out of the many rooms, as Barrow and Eric walked side by side down the long corridor the building began to look in every way less and less like an office and more like a hospital, the sight of the doctors, and an aroma mingled with the crisp air conditioning that Eric couldn’t quite put his finger on.
Despite the bustling trove of doctors brushing past them, the long expanse was strangely silent. All he could seem to hear was his own shoes tapping on the varnished tile, and the consistent beeping and hissing, like some mechanical creature breathing heavily behind the walls.
Eric tried to see beyond any of the doors they passed, but the doctors seemed to make it a point to keep them closed firmly. Each door was made out of dark wood that was the only thing reminiscent of the lobby before and matched only by the small strip of molding above that ran the entirety of the hallway.
After a good long walk and Eric’s legs had become sore as if he had just walked a mile without stopping, they arrived at the first opened door. Beyond them the corridor actually ended, splitting left and right with a large picture of a man dressed in old renaissance clothing, smiling wanly, hung perfectly centered on the wall. The man was pale, like Barrow himself, and seemed to be suggesting with his dark red eyes some malignant intent. Barrow motioned for Eric to enter the room; he did so quickly, only as to be removed from the gaze of that portrait.
The room, just as the hallway had suggested reminded Eric exactly of the numerous hospital accommodations he had been in before. It was small, but spacious enough for Barrow to move around easily enough for him to do what he needed to do. Eric scanned the blinding white room; there were surprisingly few medical equipment, a blue chair that rested on a large machine that required it to move in almost any direction the user needed it to accommodate the sitter was fixed in the middle of the room with a large machine that looked to Eric like a overly large computer modem on a two drawer cabinet that stood beside it. A series of snakelike tubing ran in and out of the machine.
Expecting to get a humorous reaction from his host, Eric said, “I hope you don’t have any more of those pictures that was in the hallway in here.”
This was followed by a nervous laugh that was only a vain attempt at humor, mainly affected by the increasingly chilly air and the ominous feeling that the room gave him. Barrow merely smirked, as he prepped the machine, connecting the tubes with fresh plastic tubing he had just retrieved from one of the cabinets. He threw the package it had been in, in a black trash can behind him. After the prep work was done he motioned wordlessly for Eric to sit in the chair, which Eric did so without an inkling of choice in the matter.
Barrow walked over to the sink, all Eric could hear was the sudden rush of the water faucet, the squeaking of the metal knob behind him. Then there was the sound of drawers opening and closing, and plastic being ripped open. The room was so quiet; Eric could hear the man stretching on the latex gloves. He finally walked into view, and faced Eric politely.
“I apologize, but I will be back shortly.” Without touching the door handle, or the door itself, he left the room. Eric craned his neck backward to look what was on the table, he had been expecting the syringe, but beside it lay about six large plastic bags most likely to be used to store his blood in. This struck Eric with a momentary fear. How much are they planning on taking from me? He thought, horribly that something was very wrong.
After only a few minutes, Barrow returned, this time with another doctor. The man seemed familiar; Eric thought he saw him along with many of the scurrying men in the hallway. Instead of being pale and thin, this doctor’s skin was dark, what they sometimes call olive to refer to someone native to the Mediterranean Sea. He stood a good foot shorter than Barrow himself who could only tower over anything. The young doctor seemed docile enough, but after only a few moments of surveying him, Eric realized that his face was pained somewhat, like he was doing something that hurt him terribly.
“Let me introduce one of my many associates, Victor, he will be asking you a few very simple questions,” Barrow said, just before returning to doing whatever he needed to do in preparatory of his tasks. Eric noticed Barrows eyes lingering on him before he disappeared out of sight though, and it gave him chills.
“Hello,” the young doctor whom Barrow had called his “associate” jotted down something quickly on the clipboard he carried into the room, “Your name is Eric Theodore Gaines, correct.”
It took a second for Eric to realize that he was asking a question, “Um, yes sir.”
“Okay. Have you been arrested or charged with any misdemeanors or had any charges filed against you that would be considered unlawful?”
“No.”
“Have you had sexual relations with more than three women in the past month?”
“No, sir.”
“Okay, good, have you ever taken any abusive, depressant, or hallucinogenic substance Mr. Gaines?”
“Nope.”
“Good.” The man Barrow had called Victor jotted a few more things on the clipboard and looked up. “It seems as though everything checks out,” then he looked down at Eric, “but Mr. Gaines, if for any reason these results do not reflect a drug and background test positively, we will not be able to use any substance from your body and no fees will be returned to you.”
At that the man nodded toward Barrow and left the room, this time closing the door behind him. Silence once more, save for the distant mechanical thrumming of the breathing thing behind the walls.
Barrow stepped into view. His skin seemed whiter than before, most likely due to the lighting in the room. His eyes were wide, and his light red lips parted just enough for Eric to see a thin white line of teeth.
“This will only sting momentarily,” he warned.
Immediately afterward, Eric felt cold on the underside of his arm, and a stinging pressure just below the bend of his elbow. He looked down and saw a large plastic tube running from his skin, connected to the series of interconnected tubes all running through the machine that now began to make a sucking sound. A small amount of blood trickled down his forearm. Barrow patted it dry with a folded piece of gauze, which he pressed on the place he had made the stick and taped it down.
Barrows’ promise held true, the pain subsided after only about a minute. Now he could feel a slight tugging sensation where the needle was, followed by numbness that seemed to be coming from the inside of his arm. Suddenly the plastic tubing was filled with red, as blood began to be pumped from him to the first of the bags Barrow had put in place. Eric lay back, relaxing as much as he could in the stiff padded chair.
“Here, I would like for you to squeeze this as much as you can in your right hand.” Barrow handed Eric a small stress ball that looked like a dog’s chew toy. Nevertheless Eric began to squeeze it and could immediately see his blood being pumped into the tube faster than before.
His host grinned slyly, and began monitoring the machine that read Eric’s blood pressure and heart rate.
Eric felt one of the first twinges of uneasiness as Barrow slid his long fingers along the spiraling red tubes, as if one might caress a loved one. There was a look in his eyes too, that wasn’t there before. Something had changed in the man standing before him. He seemed excited, flamboyant and lurid in direct contrast to his behavior out in the lobby. His once orderly hair had fallen out in places, streaming down his face in strands.
“Just continue squeezing, and if you notice any numbness of your feet, you can go ahead and move them until the numbness goes away,” Said Barrow. Only a few minutes passed and he had to change one of the bags; he took the bloated red sack into another room. When he returned the second bag was almost half full as well.
Eric began to feel dizziness creep unto him. He pushed himself upward slightly, trying to get more comfortable and a wave of nausea hit him, he settled down and when the nausea subsided he tried to move again, this time his body wouldn’t budge from its position.
“Oh, don’t try to move. You’re having blood pumped out of your body at a rate most would consider dangerous.” Barrow leaned in closer, his untidy hair falling in clumps, almost completely shading his eyes. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead and lingered at the bottom of his distinguished cheek until eventually it fell to the ground. He took a deep breath through his nose, and after a long time exhaled. His breath stank like decay, rot and bile mixed together. Eric held the sudden impulse to vomit

[J.L Hunter]

There was definitely something wrong, he realized. Barrow retreated to the back of the room, where he stood, facing the wall for about a minute, breathing heavily, and his horizontal shoulders rising and falling almost in a mock gesture of exasperation.
The room began to blur and he noticed the second bag was filled. Barrow, as if reading his mind, turned around and removed the bag, replacing it in one swift motion with another clear container. The blood began to seep into it immediately. Eric tried to count the numbers on the bag to figure out how many ounces each one carried, but found it extremely difficult as he could barely see the bag itself now.
Barrow stayed in the other room for a while now, the large metal door was closed firmly. Eric assumed it was a cooler where they stocked the blood. He tried to contain his wandering mind into the vicinity of rationality, telling himself that Barrow was in there organizing things to make room for one more bag, perhaps he couldn’t find the bag he had just put in there. But then there was the way he had just stood there in the corner of the room, breathing.
That was undoubtedly unnerving.
He tried again to move, this time with only a minimal amount of success, as he was able to place his leg about three inches to the right. Eric didn’t trust himself to get up though, too much blood had been taken out of him, and even more was being pumped every second. The room started tilting, and he closed his eyes, when he opened them again the room was where it should be, but the blurring effect remained.
All Eric wanted to do now was leave, there was something terribly wrong here and he wanted no part of it. But he didn’t think he had much choice at this point. He thought he could possibly take the plastic needle out of his arm, still the flowing blood with a bandage, and try to walk as fast as he could down the corridor. Barrow would have no idea he had left until he was safely outside.
But all of that was just a fantastic day dream, mainly because if he could barely lift his head off of the blue padded chair, or move his leg substantially, there was little or no chance of him being able to get up and walk anywhere.
All of a sudden there was a blurred shape standing in front of him. Eric couldn’t make out who it was, but he hadn’t noticed the metal door open, so he suspected it was another doctor. He squinted his eyes so he could see him, to put detail to the distorted image before him. This man though wasn’t wearing a smock; in fact it seemed he was wearing just jeans and a T-shirt.
The man walked toward Eric, toward the machine next to him in fact. The man that Eric could now see had long blonde hair, which ran down his shoulders in golden tufts. He seemed to be examining the bag that his blood was being fed into.
Eric was able to make out a few words, “W-who are you?”
The blonde man turned toward him, his eyes were closed, and he breathed through his nose.
“You smell wonderful.”
“What?”
Eric barely understood as the man began to run his fingers along the red lines of tubing, just as Barrow had before. He leaned in closer and sniffed the bag, like a curious animal, or a raving maniac.
Barrow had then come back into the room. Eric’s eyes had cleared thankfully, and he could see that Barrow looked worse than he had before, like he was drained physically, he slumped over, no longer standing straight as he once had.
His lips were red, bright red lining the opening of his mouth, which hung agape as he panted roughly.
“Galen, what may I ask are you doing here?”
The blonde jerked his head around to see the intruder, “well, Barrow, I thought it presumptuous of you to keep such a delightful client from my knowledge.”
Barrow said nothing in return, only stood there, staring.
Then Galen said, “I just wanted a taste.”
Eric thought he must be dreaming. Fear sunk into his stomach, making the nausea much worse, he swallowed hard.
Then Barrow strode to the other side of Eric, and ran his index finger along Eric’s left arm. The touch was warm, sickeningly warm. Eric thought of dead meat, left sitting out in the sun. “Do you understand Mr. Gaines?”
Eric didn’t realize at first that he was talking to him, but didn’t respond even after the realization.
The other named Galen walked away and began pacing back and forth along the room. The third bag was now full, and Barrow walked around the chair from behind Eric and replaced it with a fourth.
He looked straight at Eric; his hands were shaking wildly, the blood sloshing around in the bag in result. Barrow used his free hand to wipe his unruly hair out of the way, revealing two large completely black eyes. A small amount of blood splashed out of the supposedly sealed pouch, and splattered on the white tile below.
Eric’s heart was pounding madly, what he had before thought, that something was incredibly wrong, had not been just some wildly absurd premonition. The blonde stood beside Barrow, his entire body shaking uncontrollably. As if the splattering blood had been heard or smelled throughout the building, the door swung open and two more figures entered the room quickly.
Barrow took no mind to the newcomers, who immediately rushed over to Eric, routinely coursing their fingers along his arms and the pouch of blood beside him. Galen had bent down on his knees and began noisily lapping up the spilled blood. Terror rushed through his body and his head spun as he became more and more disoriented.
There were sounds coming from the door, scratching sounds, and beating on the wall. Barrow walked over to the door and locked the latch securely. The door shook violently as if someone had run into it. The sickness that Eric felt was now more from fear than from the amount of blood was leaving his body at such a constant rate. The other two had gone into the metal door, and Galen had sucked up the blood, all that was left was a faint pink hue, where it had stained the tile.
Barrow’s head twitched aggressively, like a long sober drug addict being given a whiff of cocaine. Galen rose into view, his mouth messily covered in blood.
“You have never been the cleanest, nor most polite dining guest, Galen.” Barrow said calmly, his voice returning to its sly punctual self. He took a few steps toward the chair where Eric lay, helpless. The beating and scratching continued from the door.
Looking straight at Eric, Barrow lifted the bag that contained his blood to his mouth, wrapped his red lips around the opening and began to drink. Some of it had seeped out and trailed down his chin, dripping to the ground. Barrow drank in large thirsty gulps. Eric assumed faintly that this was done to give him an answer, to finally unveil their awful purpose in bringing him here.
When he was done, there was about a third of the bag left and he handed it to Galen, who began drinking immediately. Barrow smiled widely, showing a mouthful of blood, and two rows of sharp white teeth. They were playing with Eric, like a pack of hyenas might taunt their prey before beginning to devour it. And to Eric, these particular hyenas looked hungry. Crazily Eric wondered in his barely aware state of mind whether they would eat him alive or just drain the blood out of his body until he passed out or died, whichever came first. However they might do it, the end result would be the same. Eric struggled to the best of his ability, managing to lift his right leg enough to switch to a sitting position.
His breathing was rapid; hyperventilating is what they called it, although he never thought that he would experience it. It was uncontrollable, his heart pounded beneath his ribcage, which shuddered like the door being steadily beaten upon. Sweat poured off his forehead, stinging his eyes, making it difficult to see, although he was sure the creatures that he had idiotically trusted enough to stick a needle in his arm and draw blood were approaching slowly. They must be playing with him, prolonging the moment, a kind of sick foreplay they believed would make the art of killing more satisfactory. He thought of every way that he could get out of the situation he was in, not letting himself give in, but all scenarios ended abysmally.
If he could just move enough to roll off of the chair, he thought. His mind raced, thinking of people that were able to do amazing things when pressed in life or death situations, the theory that adrenaline can be steadily pumped into the blood stream enabling the most infantile strengths to lift the back end of a car, or crazily attack someone that had already shoved a nine inch knife through your neck, and survive.
“I. FEEL. ALIVE!” Barrow roared suddenly. A deafening scream came in response, somewhere behind Eric, which made his ears feel like they were about to burst. The bag that had once held Eric’s blood was lying on the ground next to Barrow’s feet like a discarded stomach skin. Galen was nowhere to be seen, and Eric assumed it was him that had just shrieked.
If there was a time to do anything, to try anything, the time would be now. He put all of his effort in making first his toes move, one by one, from left to right. Next, he fervently demanded the muscles in his legs to clench, and then unclench, meanwhile blood continued to pour nonstop out of him and he could feel the results more than ever. Eric felt disconnected with his body, and the room around him was hazy, his actions dreamlike. When he was able to move his thighs slightly side to side Barrow had stopped, was watching him intently, wondering what he was doing and knowing that there was absolutely no way out. Regardless, Eric moved his intent to his stomach muscles, his abs, watching the rising and falling of them as a result of his breathing, and then his solar plexus. Next were his arms, fingers, hands, wrist, then biceps and shoulders.
In school, Eric had taken a class in drama, and just before going out on stage to perform, he had been so nervous he had been shaking uncontrollably, almost unable to move his body. The teacher had gone over to Eric and gave him advice that would eventually come to save his life. She told him to lay flat on his back, regardless of what the other kids thought, and clear his mind, thinking of nothing but the rising and falling of his chest. She told him to relax every muscle in his body, and then from his toes, concentrate on awakening every muscle and bone in his body one at a time until he reached his ears.
This lesson had helped considerably, and Eric had used it on many occasions, even after he had quit school in the tenth grade. He felt that this would be the last time he would use it, and he thought of his life before, how wasteful it had been.
When he got to his ears finally, he wriggled them up and down, he could amazingly feel his entire body again, and however disoriented he was. Eric closed his eyes, blocking out the picture of the horrible creature stalking even closer. He breathed in, and then held it. In one motion he pushed with all of his strength to the side and threw his body over the chair. His head hit the blood monitoring machine and the plastic needle was in result ripped straight out of his arm, his body crashed to the cold tile.
Pain shot through his head, from temple to temple and felt a warm sensation down his right cheek. He quickly scrambled to his knees and found himself about two inches from either Galen or Barrow’s legs. He used a considerable amount of strength and threw his arms at them, hoping his aim was right. It was, and the person that was no more than a featureless figure crashed to the ground. Eric heard a hard smack as the things head met the tiled floor. He saw blood stream out of its mouth like a river. It took a moment for Eric to realize that it was Galen he had just brought down; he blinked, looked around for Barrow, and couldn’t see him. Eric wasn’t sure if it was just because he was in a state of pure chaos, his mind scrambled his body feeling like a pile of gelatin with arms and legs.
Without wasting much time with thinking whether his latent killer had fled or was somewhere hidden in the room, Eric fumbled on his hands and knees across the room to the metal door. His entire thought process was improvisation, and he climbed up the doors surface and pushed the latch in until the door was firmly shut. Using the door as a level, he steadied himself on his feet and looked around for any signs of Barrow.
Nothing.
Galen however was on the ground, thrashing around wildly, although obviously hurt. He looked to Eric like an epileptic suffering from a violent seizure. He grabbed the legs of the blood monitoring machine and threw it across the room, probably trying to get a good grasp so he could get to his feet.
Where was Barrow? That was the only thing on Eric’s mind at the moment, aside from the stabbing pain that continuously sent shards of glass through his head. He looked around, panicking. Barrow had just been right in front of him, and there was really no place to hide, unless he had walked into the cooler for another drink, or to see what was taking his friends so long.
That was when Eric felt a strong pair of hands on his shoulders, sickening warmth issued from the presence, the smell of blood and bile filling the air around him.
“What are you doing?” The thing behind him barely sounded human. Before he could do anything, Barrow forced him around until they were face to face, about an inch apart. The smell that came from the creature was unbearable; the stink filled his nostrils like toxic gas.
The creature pushed Eric against the door, behind it he could hear whispering voices too faint to be understood.
“We here have never had the opportunity of meeting someone with your blood type Mr. Gaines. Normally we just take the blood we need, and send you on your way.” Barrow’s head twitched violently, his neck cracking from the immediate strain. Blood poured out of its mouth not like a river, but more like a lake or a waterfall streaming to the ground.
“AHHHHHH!” The thing screamed loudly, the blood shot out and splattered on Eric’s face and clothes, the feel of it on his skin was hot, like boiling water. Eric could see the thing’s skin begin to grow from porcelain white to a richer color like bronze. The hands that had once felt like stone on his shoulders weakened tremendously.
“THIS. FEELS. WONDERFUL!” The creature claimed, although Eric could see evidence to the contrary. Eventually Barrow’s grasp lightened so much that Eric could just peel them off like leeches that had had their fill of his blood. Obviously the creatures had also had their fill of his blood, and seemed to be suffering the side effects. The bronze turned to a more black color and Barrows entire skin seemed to turn to ash, cracking and peeling.
Barrow stepped back, “WHAT. IS. HAPPENING?” His expression was that of pure terror as through the cracks in his skin, blackish liquid began to seep. His fingertips became fountains of discolored blood, as if it had been inside of his body rotting and spoiling. The large bulk before Eric fell back into the far wall and slid to the ground. Beside him, Galen had become still, and silent. The whispering voices were still there behind the door but were faint and distant. Eventually they would stop.
Whatever was in his blood had caused some sort of reaction to their bodies, unlike anything they had ever come across before. It was his blood type, it made him invincible to the creatures that had just tried to kill him, and to the creatures behind the door that was his only escape. The puncture in his arm had already coagulated and was beginning to heal. Without being able to waste much time he unlatched the door behind him and opened it cautiously, beyond was two indecipherable heaps on the ground just beyond the threshold. He walked into the cold room, making sure the door behind him stayed ajar. He scanned the hundreds of cabinets, which were labeled alphabetically. Eventually he found his name, the cabinet was opened slightly and only one bag of blood was inside, he could see the other two on the floor, empty.
Eric grabbed the bag and stepped back out of the cold room, not bothering to let the door close behind him, the cold air felt good on his recovering skin. Weakly, he strode across the room, careful to avoid the bodies of both of his captives. He had murdered them, although murder was normally defined as a human killing another human, perhaps this act of carnage would be considered animal cruelty.
He threw open the door, but there was nothing waiting on the other side, he looked around, down the long hallway which was completely silent. Without wasting any time, he made his way down the corridor. Midway down he heard screams, finally. He stopped, turned around and saw about three of them, the doctors he had once thought were doctors rapidly approaching, their white teeth showing. It was just a theory, but he assumed that they would be unable to resist his blood and would go for fresh and accessible rather than fighting for it.
He took the bag of blood and ripped open the top of the package, slung his own blood on the walls and on the floor, emptying the contents until there was none left. He dropped the red tinged plastic on the ground and ran as fast as his unsteady legs would let him.
Behind Eric could hear thirsty slurping sounds as the creatures lapped the blood up like hungry dogs. Still there were more thudding footsteps coming closer toward him. Evidently there wasn’t enough to go around; there were two charlatan doctors closing in on him, their black eyes glimmering in the artificial light of the hallway.
Joining the party of blood thirsty dinner guests, the receptionist that had so mechanically persuaded him over the phone to come here in the first place led the pack. Eric wanted so very badly to do something to her, give her a taste of what Barrow and the other crazies had suffered, but thought it would be at the expense of his life. Beyond the increasingly growing crowd that was beginning to fill the hallway until Eric wondered how many more could fit, the creatures had just gotten through with the last bit of spilled blood and were gaining on him also.
After what seemed to be an eternity he reached the door, it swished open just as it did before, completely apathetic and uncaring whether or not there was a mob of flesh eating monsters not even twenty yards away.
Eric could hear their teeth snapping, their mouths opening and closing hungrily. There were wet sounds as they absently tore at each other, causing blood to splatter along the floor. He looked back, expecting them to be on his heels, but were in fact slowing down to a crawl, the entire hallway filled with what seemed to be a group of only semi-interested zombies. What they were doing, or what they were afraid of, Eric didn’t know, he was tired, scared, adrenaline pumping through his body the only thing holding him up.
The only thing he had to do was to run outside, and as he crossed the large magnificent lobby that he had previously admired, and now detested, the crowd had come to a full stop, just beyond the sliding glass door; he could only see their silhouettes standing, rocking and swaying as if weak and were unable to stand straight.
Eric reached the gigantic glass door, grasped the long bronze handle firmly and yanked as hard as he could. He tumbled out of the building and fell, rolling, out onto the parking lot. It was dark, the sun only a faint memory in the sky, which the stars and moonless black sky replaced.
Without looking back, he ran across the now empty parking lot. Not really wondering where all of the fancy cars had gone. Not really caring that the beautiful building behind him was a death trap, not to all who come there, but just to him, because for some reason, some unfathomable explanation he was special. Barrow had told him that his blood type was unique, the same blood that doctors before had said was unusual, and potentially dangerous. At least it was dangerous for blood eating monsters. As he got into his car and shut the door, he wondered what it would do inside of him over a long period of time, but decided not to think about it much.
Eric sat in his car for most of the night, not caring that the parking meter had elapsed, didn’t have any intention of going outside and putting a quarter in the machine.
In the morning he would fill the tank up and leave the city, leave everything he had once known, because if they were able to find him before, they would find him again, and the next time he wouldn’t be as lucky as he had been today. He would change his name later and start a new life.
But he would never in his entire life disclose what had happened to anyone else. Let them have their fun, but give them no reason at all to go after him. Eric leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes and tried to tear the awful images of those things out of his mind. He wouldn’t be able to though, the pictures were seared into his memory like a brand.
Central Avenue wasn’t busy, nor was E Street. People were at home, asleep in their beds, unknowing of the terror that existed. But Eric knew.
He knew all too well.

[Lucien]

Umm... Wow...

[Boxofit]

Haha. That was great, I don't think I was supposed to laugh through it, but I doubt many people will be thinking about the silver linings as they read.

[J.L Hunter]

eh... it was funny to me while i wrote it. It probably needs a second draft though. I'm glad you guys like it, its actually one of my favorite stories. What silver linings? is it in the story?