Vermillion blood oozed slowly into the chlorine-filled water below. With every drip, the pure, clear liquid was further contaminated. A female figure stood at the edge of the pool. The woman’s red-stained lips contrasted with her sallow skin. A freshly-pale corpse lay still warm beside the woman. She ran her tongue along her teeth, her carnivorous canines, and wiped the remaining crimson material from her mouth twice before her eyes fell to her prey. Hoisting the body over her shoulder with ease, she left and disposed of it.
Nadine Ryscoe’s hands no longer shook when she made a grocery run; her eyes no longer resembled those of a lost puppy’s. She used to feel guilt, but left it all behind as of late. It was an unavoidable instinct, a need. Humans kill lower animals for a food source; couldn’t she kill some lower life forms to survive, too? Recently, the thought gave her great comfort. She wasn’t brave enough to commit suicide, though she had considered and attempted it multiple times, so she might as well do what was required to live. She had tried cattle blood, blood donations, and any other possible substitute for human blood, but it wasn’t enough. It had to be fresh, human blood.
It had been two years since a stranger attacked her and bit her neck. Two years since the stranger tried to help her into her new lifestyle. Two years since she lectured him on how she didn’t need his help and tried adjusting on her own, only to return a week later. She had soon begun to enjoy his company. Jack Mowry became somewhat of an adoptive father, caretaker, mentor.
By accident, she killed her abusive boyfriend Lucas Mynes when he assaulted her one night. Because of that incident, she left Jack behind in search of a fresh start in another town. She supposed Jack knew how upset she was; the way he looked at the cadaver when he disposed of it, and how he kept making sure she was all right. She hadn’t left too quickly, to avoid suspicion, but she hadn’t wanted to stay long.
As a result, Silver Lakes gained an oil painter. Most of her works incorporated specially-dyed, brilliant scarlets, and were received fairly well. She adored the color; it was well worth the ingredients. She still talked to Jack a couple times a month, visited a few times last year. She had been living in Silver Lakes for a little over a year now, and she and Jack had been growing more distant with every passing day since she arrived there. She had felt bad about it, and had made a mental note to visit him on the weekend.
Monday night, Nadine entered her apartment and promptly plopped down on the couch. She gave in a little bit to herself and emailed Jack that they should get together sometime soon. She brushed her strawberry blonde locks from her face and mentally scolded herself for being so worried about the weekend. Their friendship could survive another week, but it might snow next week, and it would be extremely cold the week after that. This week, it was just chilly, the cold snap lying in wait for its moment to strike, but still waiting. She retired to her bed and reassured herself that it would be fine.
Before she knew it, it was morning. Better, it was Tuesday morning. The week was another day shorter, and Saturday approached in the not-so-distant future. Half an hour later, when she had wrestled herself out of bed and gotten dressed, she checked her email as nonchalantly as she thought she could pass it off to herself. There was nothing.
Unfortunately, when she read the news, she discovered her last blood donor had been noticed. Her mind flashed back to the poolside cadaver. She kicked herself for not noticing that he had a close friend, a police officer. Great, she thought, a police officer. This is the second one they know about — they might look into the other disappearances. She sighed deeply and got to work finding out as much as she could.
A half hour later, she was interrupted.
“I know nothing about — I don’t even know that guy,” Nadine protested. The police officer sitting across from the table paused to stare disbelievingly into her eyes for a moment. He noted the lack of fear in the apple-green orbs.
“A man saw you at the pool with William Aspell. He saw you stab the deceased repeatedly. He said he didn’t come forward earlier because he didn’t want ‘that horrible, twisted woman’ coming after him too. He suggested that we look for disappearances of people who weren’t missed. We found a lot of them. A few were missed, and we found them too. Later, you can tell us who we haven’t found yet.
“We noted that there were many more disappearances in your hometown, same as the others. One of ‘em was your boyfriend. Your hometown’s disappearances stopped right about the time you left, which is when Silver Lakes’ begun. This is a decent case, Miss Ryscoe. Chances are, you’ll get multiple life sentences for this,” the man reported. The immortal woman’s youth could not go unnoticed eternally.
“Can I ask who claimed all this?” Nadine inquired. She was certain no one had seen her.
“He said it was all right to tell you if we protected him from you. His name’s Jack Mowry. Nice guy,” was the answer. Nadine paused in shock. She revisited the story the police were told, that she had opted for a less-vampiric method of terminating William Aspell. Jack knew about her. She figured that he probably didn’t want to cast doubt over whether their race exists. So, he lied. He was the only one who could have told that story and tipped the police off about their meals. Jack. One question took its place at the front of her mind: Why would he do this? It was a few days later that she finally got her answer.
Jack came to visit her in the holding cell. “Why did you do that, Jack?” asked Nadine. “I never did anything to you; we were friends,” she remarked. Jack sighed and paused.
“You did. You did do something. You see, Nadine, a long time ago, my name was not Jack Mowry. It was John Mynes. I had a daughter, Carol, while I was human. I got too old for looking so young, so goodbye John Mynes, hello Jack Mowry. Kept the same initials to match anything I owned. Carol had a boy, my grandson. His name was Lucas. He was born with a condition, a fatal one. He would die before his time, but not for a while. There was still hope that he would improve, or that a treatment could be found.
“Two years ago, it had gotten worse, and the doctors estimated that he had four years left. I could turn him. You know, bite him. I doubted that he would accept. I figured he’d just let himself die. So I turned his girlfriend. Thought it would help him. Live forever with his girlfriend, and all that. Beats watching her leave him, because she’s old, but doesn’t look it. Then I hesitated for a long time. It’s a big decision, turning your grandson into a vampire and telling him you’re his grandfather. I debated it for a year; then I didn’t have a chance anymore. You killed him. I would’ve just killed you, but why not put you in jail forever? You’ll get recognized as not human eventually, and probably as unique, alone. There’ll be a copycat killer, of course, in your hometown, but they’ll never be caught,” Jack explained. Nadine just sat there for a minute trying to absorb the information.
“I’m sorry,” she finally spoke in a whisper. “I didn’t know. I didn’t even know he was dying… It was an accident. He attacked me, I shoved him back, and he hit his head,” she murmured. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, less authenticity in her voice. “I didn’t deserve this, though. He beat me pretty often and pretty badly when I was human, and kept trying afterwards — all I did was shove him back, just once,” she argued, her tone growing less apologetic and more bitter.
“He could have lived forever” was Jack’s simple, hushed response. Then, he left.
The trial came and went. Nadine was found guilty of mass murder and was serving several life sentences.
A guard stood frozen at the sight he beheld.
His eyes flicked to a short note written in blood on the wall. It read, “Tell Jack Mowry forever doesn’t have to be forever. Thank him for giving me enough of a reason for this. Look into him. He kills like I did.”
Vermillion blood oozed slowly from a broken, wooden baton inserted into Nadine Ryscoe’s chest.
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