Under a Silent Moon

2

Chapter Two: A Devilish Crimson

ZACK

All I can think about is blood. It races around in my brain like a goddamn semi with faulty brakes. The cravings are all-consuming and they shake my transitioning body to its core.

It's been six months since I died and nothing has been the same since.

It was an average night, just like every Friday night. School, football game, alcohol. On this night, my friends and I were at a dive bar off Route 60 where a buddy of mine works and is known for serving underage drinkers. My girlfriend Lizzy practically begged me to take her--any action that went directly against her parents' expectations of her was always on her to-do list. And a shitty bar outside of town somehow made it to the top of that list.

I wasn't exactly in the mood to drink, so as the night dragged on, and as Lizzy became more intoxicated, I became less interested in being emotionally present. I guess you could say Lizzy wasn't exactly the type of girl I thought she was--not that I'm really into assigning labels.

 Sometimes it just felt like she was interested in me because of my status on the football team or the number of people I know. Being the son of a successful businessman in a small town has its perks, I suppose. But instead of doing anything about our relationship, like communicating for instance, I decided to keep my mouth shut and maintain the facade that Lizzy and I were madly in love. It wasn't all that difficult to do. She was attractive, after all.

Leaning against the bar counter with Jeremy, I spotted Lizzy climbing onto the lap of some college frat guy who immediately clutched her waist in an eager grasp. Jeremy followed my gaze and, ever the helpful friend, provided me with some advice: "Have a smoke break."

He tossed me a pack of cigarettes, and even though I was never a big smoker, I gladly accepted the cancer sticks and was grateful to take a minute away from this hellhole.

Stepping out into the brisk evening, I immediately regretted not grabbing a jacket. A foul smell wafted through the dark alley, but considering the location, I didn't give it much thought. I retrieved the cigs from my back pocket and flipped the pack open. No lighter. I patted down my pockets in search of my own, which I obviously didn't have, and let out a frustrated sigh. I turned to the back door, ready to find Jeremy and borrow his lighter, when a large, hulking figure blocked my path.

Instinctively, I took a step back. I didn't even get to finish a "What the hell's your problem?" before my arm was wrenched back into an unnatural position and a searing pain shot through my neck. In my memory, I recall seeing what I assumed was my own blood spurt and race down the front of my body, but instead of feeling the pain that undoubtedly should have followed, I went numb. The only thing I remember feeling was the life literally drain from my body. Next thing I knew, my face was smashing against the cold, rough gravel of the alley.

Paralyzed, I lay conscious on the ground, no longer feeling my lungs fill with air or my heartbeat in my chest. I knew I was dead. But then, why could I still see car headlights as they drove past? Or hear the low thrum of music pulsating from the building that contained my best friend and girlfriend?

Were they hurt too?

That thought alone made my muscles contract. Slowly and cautiously, I began to push against the ground and lift my body to a kneeling position.

That's when I felt it.

The pain.

The hunger.

The void.

My throat felt as if it were being strangled and set on fire all at once. My jaw ached. The extreme hunger gnawed at my insides like a demon fleeing from hell.

What was happening to me?

As I stabilized myself using the brick exterior of the building, I found it difficult to tame my dizzying mind. It felt as if I had just shoved an IV of ethanol into my arm. Trying to make sense of the situation, my instincts pushed me from the dark alley back into the throng of the bar. As the door swung shut behind me, the noise hit me like a physical barrier. My hands flew to my ears, pressing my fingers hard into the canals. Not only were the sounds overwhelming, but so were the scents.

Beneath the ever-present odor of booze and sweat, I was able to identify a variety of other scents that I've never detected before in such a crowded area. Cheap floral perfume, spearmint gum, freshly painted nails, blood.

Oh, the blood.

I could hear the arteries pumping. I could almost feel it, tangible in the musty air. I could smell the sweet coppery aroma beneath thin layers of skin. But it wasn't the sensory overload that threw me over the edge. No, it was the fact that it made me hungry.

A sharp knot twisted in my stomach, lurching me forward, so powerful that I couldn't trust myself not to grab a knife behind the bar and shove it into somebody's jugular, relishing in the fluid it would release. A random party-goer interrupted my deranged thinking by reaching out for me, saying something along the lines of, "You don't look so good, buddy," but all I could focus on was the proximity of his wrist to my face. I swatted him away, swiveled, and pushed hastily through the door once again.

When the cool autumn breeze swathed over me, I felt so cleansed and relieved that I might have broken down in tears right there next to the dumpster. Holding onto a shred of dignity, I sucked in a deep breath and was overcome with the fact that oxygen brought no reprieve for my lungs. I tried again, sucking in more deeply, yearning for the sensation of oxygen pumping life through my body. Nothing.

Nothing at all.

Certain that I was losing my sanity, I looked down at my palms. They still looked like mine--large, slightly callused. I flipped them over. Yep, those were my anxiously-chewed-off nails. That was my championship ring from playoffs last year. That was my Cartier watch shimmering under the glow of the moonlight, too fancy for my taste, but worn due to my dad's incessant reminders of how grateful I should be for all the nice things we can afford.

In that moment, I had no idea where to go from there. My decisions are usually easy and quick. They require little to no depth of thought. I have been lucky in my life to have a wealthy family and a brain smart enough to earn good grades and a body taut enough to toss a football around, reeling in deafening applause. I've already been awarded a full tuition scholarship to my first-choice university, so even one of the biggest decisions of my life wasn't really a decision at all. It was a given.

If I didn't want to stay at my dad's house, I could always crash at Jeremy's or hang out at Lizzy's or with one of the other handful of friends in our group like Carter or Grayson. But now, experiencing an all-consuming cold that could splinter bones while simultaneously lacking nerve receptors at all, I was lost.

I surely couldn't re-enter the dive bar or risk hurting someone, maybe even someone I cared about. I couldn't go back home. How would I explain the blood on my neck or the lack of a pulse through my veins to my dad?

I fumbled for my phone which evidently had been shattered at some point during the horrid night. Through the cracks on the screen I could still locate my texts and haphazardly thumbed a message to Lizzy: Feeling sick, going home. Be careful. It wouldn't be until the next morning that I received a response from her.

I bit down hard on my lip with enough force that it should have broken skin. Before tucking my phone away, I held it up in the moonlight and brought up the camera. As soon as the application loaded, a fractured image of my face stared back at me. I blinked once, twice. Ghostly pale, as if all the blood had drained from my body. The eyes in the reflection were not mine--they were a devilish crimson with large, animalistic pupils that contracted as a car headlight illuminated the back side of the bar.

I studied the image, as if relearning my own facial features. I blinked, moved my head side to side. I opened my mouth slightly, and then promptly clamped it shut at the sight of my abnormally long canines.

This couldn't be happening.

I was a fucking freakshow.