Darkness. Contrary to what the legends will have you believe, I do not see in the dark. In fact, cataracts rendered my eyes almost sightless centuries ago. I can tell when daylight breaks. The sun endows light with a certain unmistakable quality that my eyes still detect. But this is darkness. If light is warmth then this is the very essence of savoury coolness. Should my eyes one day fail me completely, I can still rely on my skin to tell me if it is night. It is like a blanket quenching coals on a hearth. Soothing.

I hear the sounds around me. The details that my eyes deny me are carried to me by my ears. My footsteps are soft but resonate with my surroundings, unveil what is hidden. An insect scuttles across the floor near my right foot, momentarily pausing and then changes direction as it senses my presence. I suppress an urge to bend down and pick it up. I have a bottomless hunger that sends strands of pain through my limbs. Pain whose command is not easily disobeyed. But I know that bending down would hurt more. My knees would give in and the meal would be too small to remedy the pain. The cost is too high. So I stand. Take another step forward. Listen to the echo. Judge the distance to the window. Sense. Oh dear, how long has it been?

There! The sound. It is there again. I can hear a faint breath. Inhale. Exhale. It is a woman. The larynx is different in men and women. They cause different vibrations. I prefer women. I know it may appear vulgar, but they taste better. There is a bitterness to men’s blood. Testosterone, I presume. I don’t know, really. Suffice to say that I prefer the sweeter sex. Not that they fight less. Oh, no. Unlike what you might think, men quickly succumb to resignation whereas women fight ferociously. Both reactions are understandable, I suppose. One knows he might as well surrender and die without pain, the other equally aware of the inevitability, tries to avoid it despite the pain she may suffer. The same mechanism; different manifestations.

I hear her continuously now. Her breath is clear. The slight compression of her organs, as her diaphragm expands into the body cavity. The rustling of her dress as she moves. The air as it gives way to her body. I have her located now. I can track her. Almost depriving me of breath myself, my body is tensing. Making ready for the satiating blood. My tongue is ripping on my teeth. My own blood sends frantic messages through my system. My joints are hurting with the tension of my tightened tendons.

She is very close now. A meter or two. No more. She has stopped. Rummaging through her coat as if she has forgotten something. I can smell her. Oh, how sweet is this? A scent of flowers and a faint accent of iron. I need to be still a bit longer. To have her closer before I charge. I cannot lose this chance to drink. Patience. She appears to have found what she has been looking for. The rustling of her coat has changed. She is turning. Towards me. What is this? Has she seen me?!

The pain is excruciating! Instantaneous! Bolts of lightning are burning their way through my flesh. Like the sun burning my skin. Except it is dark still. I can smell my skin burning. A billow of metallic smoke engulfs me. A faint blue light; flickering. The woman is still here. I can hear her breathing hard. Quenching her teeth. What is this? My legs collapse under me. Throw me to the ground, adding to the pain. For a moment the lightning stops. The woman speaks. She sees me! How so? Then the lightning resumes. The rest of my body explodes in spasms, then yields and sinks. My mind is leaving me. I faint.

“Is he down? Can we put back his IV?”

The nurse looks up. She nods indifferently.

“Yeah, he is gone all right. I hate that fucking guy. He can’t see shit and still he appears to follow me when I move. Did you see the cattle prod? It almost fucking melted.”

The small operating room was teeming with calm activity. A couple of nurses constantly entering and leaving, carrying shallow steel basins with utensils or bundles of cloth back and forth. The purposefulness of it all taking out the randomness of the constant bustle. At the centre of it, a young man strapped to a chair bolted into the tiled floor. He was wearing shaggy faced mungo breeches but his torso was bare. His arms and ankles were held fast by wide leather straps. Even his freshly shaven head was fixed. As the nurses scurried around the room, he was following them with tear shot eyes. A nurse carefully mounted a metal rig above his head, turning knobs and nuts to fixate it. In a plate next to the chair, she laid out long, thin needles, each ending in a tiny spoonlike knife. Then an array of scalpels and finally a geared hand drill.

“Please, nurse. I need to relieve myself.”

His voice was pleading. Thin.

“Please!”

“Mmmhh, it is really not a good time, is it George? The doctor will be here shortly.”

“Please, I really need to go miss Rutherford.”

“Well, we can’t very well have you pee in your seat, can we?”

She sighed.

“Nurse Roberts! We need to get the patient to the bathroom.”

“Now!?”

“Yes, now!”

“You too, O’Brien.”

The nurses put down their things and drying off their hands in their skirts, they briskly walked closer; both of them with an exasperated look on their face. O’Brien was a formidable woman, dwarfing most men. She grabbed the young man by his upper arm and held him in a vise. She nodded towards the others who began unstrapping him. O’Brien literally lifted the smaller man out of the seat and stood him up. Moving in behind him, she grabbed the other arm and ushered him forward towards the door. The two other nurses positioned themselves attentively on either side of the awkward single file.

There was a secure bathroom not far from the operating room. As they neared it, George turned more and more placid. Not exactly working against the brisk gait of the larger nurse, yet slowing down enough to cause her to push him forward. Before each shove, she briefly pulled her arms in and George could feel how close her chin was. As he slowed down once more, she started the shove like the ones before, by pulling him a bit closer and at that moment he bent his neck forward and shot his head abruptly backwards. He had hoped to hit her on the chin but he must have jumped up a bit as he recoiled. He could hear her nose crack loudly as it broke and almost immediately he felt the warm blood spray across his newly shaven pate. The grip around his arms loosened and he jumped forward and sprinted. He could hear one nurse reacting immediately and run after him. The other nurse apparently attending the downed matron. His bare feet was an advantage on the tiled floors. The nurse’s studded shoes would be slippery against the hard surface. He took a turn. And then another. What luck! This part of the building was full of hallways crossing each other. He zigzagged his way through his personal maze. Somewhere behind him he could hear how his pursuer hesitated more and more often. Her studded soles rapping against the hard tile, revealing her very move; his own bare feet revealing nothing. He looked back. No one to be seen. There were doors along both sides of the hallway. He grabbed a handle. Locked. Ran to the next. Also locked. Dammit! He ran further down the corridor and turned left, knowing full well that he was moving away from the exits. More doors. He grabbed one. It was unlocked! He opened it and peered in through the doorway. The curtains were drawn but the room was not entirely dark. There was a single bed along one wall and a workstation opposite. There was a desk in his own cell too but none this big. The cell was larger too. There was a strange metallic smell in the room. He eased closer to the bed. There was an old man there. His eyes were open but clouded in almost opaque white. As George moved the old man’s eyes move too. They didn’t quite follow him but it was obvious that the man was conscious. George looked at the man. His skin was smooth and adorned with fine wrinkles. Not those of an old man, yet there was an air of old age about him.

“Fuck!”

There were steps in the hallway. Not just one person this time. Many. George looked around for a place to hide. There were none!

“Okay, scoot over old man...”

George lifted the covers and glanced at the body lying there, fixed with leather straps around both limbs and torso. He lied down besides the man and tried to make himself as small as possible. No movement. The man lay perfectly still. He could hear the echoing now, of nurses and porters outside. Some of those porters were mean to the core. They would gladly beat you senseless to within and inch of your life. Slugging a nurse was not going to make them less murderous.

“Lie still!”, George whispered to the old man.

He pressed himself against the warm body next to him. There was a noise by the door and the loud flick of a switch. The room was flooded with light from the arch lamps in the ceiling. That must be the metallic smell he had noticed when he came in. The ozone from the lamps. The old man started trembling as the lights went on. First barely noticeable then more violently. Almost like he was having seizure. George daren’t move. If he could be sure that no one was looking, he might be able to pull the covers up over the old man’s eyes. Surely that would keep the light out and stop the tremors. But they just might look their way.

“He is not in here! Try down by mrs. Ashton’s room. He must be in this ward.”

The lights went off. The searing of the arc lamps stopped immediately. Only the incident light from the corridor and what found its way through the drapes illuminated the cell now. The trembling had stopped. The old man was still again. George staid still. They might still come back.

“Who are you?”

The voice was raspy and almost imperceptible. George jerked from the shock of hearing the man speak.

“Eh, I am George. Who are you?”

“Mmmhh... George, eh? You are warm. You smell nice.”

“What! Who the fuck are you? Some kind of pervert?!”

Having already dangled halfway out of the side of the bed, George almost fell out as he tried to push himself away from the old man. He managed to get a foot down and avoid the crash from falling down, and looked at the bed. The old man hadn’t moved an inch. His eyes were not even looking in his direction. Just straight up.

“You smell of sweat... and blood... and fear...”

“Stop that. I ain’t afraid of nothing. Least of all you. Pops. The blood is from nurse O’Brien, by the way.”

“Yes, I know her smell. She is the new one. The one with the lightning.”

“With the what?”

“She vanquished me not long ago. The old ones don’t like to come in here.”

“Do you mean the shock stick? I think it is for cattle, actually.”

“I feel like a dead cow, so perhaps she mistook me for one.”

“She electrocuted you!? Jeez, man.”

An expression started appearing on the old man’s face. A smile?

“Will you undo me?”

“No way, man. I don’t know who you are or why you are strapped down.”

“I am no one. I am here because I tried to bite your nurse.”

He chuckled. The raspy voice had had a bit of warmth to it now.

“O’Brien?”

“If that is the one who bled on you, then yes. O’Brien.”

“Mmhh, I guess someone who’d bite her, is a friend of mine. Okay.”

He drew the cover to unstrap the old man. He was thin. Just sinews and skin. He must have been thin his entire life, George pondered. Otherwise he’d have wrinkles. Skin not contracting with flesh and all that.

“What’s your name, old man?”

“Chelicere. Alessandro Chelicere.”

“You Italian? How about I call you Alex?”

“Yes, do that. I don’t mind.”

George unscrewed the wingnuts on the straps and loosened them all. First the torso, then hands and last his feet. Alex staid down. Lay there as if he’d forgotten how to move. Then he slowly lifted his right leg over the side of the bed and rose shakily from the mattress and lifted the left leg over and sat up straight. His hospital gown didn’t cover much. George caught himself looking at where the old man’s crotch would be behind the thin cotton but the shadows concealed it. “Hey, it ain’t a chick this...”, George grimaced to himself.

“I am skipping this hospital. You wanna come?”

“Skipping? Ah, yes. I want to skip with you.”

“We need to find some clothes for you. You ain’t coming with me flashing your butt.”

The old man looked straight at him and smiled. There was something unnerving in those unseeing eyes.

This young man, George, is helping me out. If they hadn’t had those tubes in my arm the past days, I would probably have killed him. But I didn’t. They don’t feed me much, the tubes, but they do keep me sated. Docile. I don’t know how many years I have lived from those indescribable fluids. They dim my mind. My memory. My senses. Clog up my joints. At least they have long since stopped force-feeding me with porridge.

Then sometimes they make mistakes, the nurses. Forget to strap me down properly or one of the fearful youths in their rustling dresses slack on concentration. Those days I get to feed. The best is to wait for the strap to be loose or open. It is a balance. I risk they notice it and tighten them. But if I dare to wait and they don’t notice, I get to leave my bed. Then I slip out and follow my nose, moving silently towards the door or the window. If I am lucky one is unlocked. If not, I hide and wait for someone to come. It has been long now. My last feed was a woman in a bed in the building. An excursion. I got out of my room at night and followed her scent to a bed quite like mine. She too was tied down. They had put a stick in her mouth, so she couldn’t even scream when I embedded my teeth in her. All she did was wiggle like a tadpole in a puddle. She didn’t taste very good, though. I had sunk my teeth in her forearm and begun to suck, but her skin felt strange; waxy. As I foraged, I got a bitter sensation in my mouth and my senses began to betray me. Could she have eaten something unbecoming? Perhaps been given a condiment of salts? For whatever purpose? I put my right hand on her chest to soothe her, just in case her taste was due to anxiety. Her heart was racing behind her soft breast. It is not easy to drink and smile at the same time. I did smile. She may not have tasted well but she felt wonderful to the touch. Mmmhhh.

Mostly I get back to my bed before anyone knows I am gone. A few times, I have been caught in the corridors but never in the act. They just think I am lost in the halls in all my blindness and push me back. The new nurse with the stick is the first I think have been suspicious of me. As for my dinners; my supplements. Well, I don’t know what happens to them. I don’t leave them dried out to die but I firmly believe their minds are gone once they awaken. No one seems to take notice here.

“George, what is this place.”

“You don’t know?! It is a booby hatch. An asylum. This is where they put insane people.”

“Are you insane?”

“No. Are you?”

I giggle and hold his arm a bit tighter.

“My mind is a dried prune, young man, and just as clouded but it is not upside down.”

George makes a squirting sound. I guess it is a form of stifled laugh. He moves quickly ahead. I am hanging in the nook of his elbow, trying not to stumble. I so do hope I can get some of my strength back.

“Hush!”, I whisper. 

“George, I hear someone in front of us.”

“I don’t hear anyone. To your right or left?”

“Slightly to my left. It is faint but there are more than the one.”

“Jumping golly, you have good ears... or a good imagination.”, I can hear George opening a door,

“We will hide here until they are gone.”

It is not a steel clad door like my own but a lighter, purely wooden door, by the sound of it. It is a very small room. Stale. Maybe just a closet. George drags me backwards into the small enclosure and shuts the door very slowly. His breathing is controlled. I can feel him behind me, pressing at my back. His chest is heaving with every breath. He still smells of O’Brien. I start wondering if I can turn him. Do I want to? You see; those stories again are not entirely correct. The bite itself does not turn. Otherwise, we would have a party with many guests and very little food. No. Turning is intricate. He must want it yet not purport it. He must be drawn in; enticed. Not seduce but willingly bled - and reciprocate.

“What are you doing?”, George hissed almost inaudibly.

My mind must have lingered off and perhaps I moved. I can only assume that for a moment I have leaned against him. My unsteady legs are the best excuse I have on hand. I try to straighten a bit and move forward, away from him in the process.

“Sorry, my legs are old... The people are moving further away.”

“You can hear them? Jeez, you are something.”

Very slowly, George opens the door. He pushes me in front of me and leans out to survey the corridor.

“All clear. Let us find a way out of here. Make sure to tell me if you hear anyone, ya’ hear?”

“I will. I will. There is no one there now.”

We turn right and walk down the corridor. I can hear George’s bare feet on the tiles. No wonder he can’t hear anything with all that noise he makes. We stop at a door or gate. I reach out and touch it. It is glass. At waist height, there is a bar across it. It must be a doorway to another part of the building or perhaps even to the outside. It creaks a bit as George pushes the door ajar. A moment later he pushes it open and drags me through the doorway. The floors here are made of wood. Warm to the touch but also deceptive. The wood dampens our steps as it will everybody else’s. But something else is new. I can feel it on my skin as we walk slowly down the new hallway. There are open doors and behind those open doors are windows and outside those windows there is light. Sunlight. The light is not yet direct. It must be reflecting from surfaces. Still, it stings.

“George! I can’t go here. The light is too bright. It burns me.”

“What! There hardly is any. Can’t you close your eyes?”

“No. It is not just my eyes. My skin burns.”

“Bugger me! How the hell can it? Geez...”

“Can you find a blanket to put over me?”

“A blanket? You want me to escape this fucking place with you wrapped in a blanket?!”

“Then leave me. I will go back, then.”

“Hold your horses. I will take a look...”

He leaves me and walks off. I can hear him stop a few times and then his footsteps fade. He must be in a room. I wonder where we are since there are no people here. I step a bit backwards to get in the shade of the corner where we entered. I hold out my arms and touch the wall and the glass door. The glass is smooth and cold. The wall is light. A drywall or wood panelling with wallpaper. Not the painted or tiled concrete in the other building. I glide my palm over the wallpaper. It has a structure. Embossed. My hand hits a picture frame. I wonder what would be on a picture sitting behind a door.

“Hey, I found this for you.”

George is back. He is handing me a bundle.

“I can’t see it, George. What is it?”

“A full set of clothes. I think they will fit you. I changed myself back there. Quick, take the pants.”

He has picked out a piece from the bundle and hands it over. I pull the robe over my head and take off the trousers George found for me back in my room. To cover my butt, he had said. I turn the pants to get my bearings and pull them on.

“There were no underpants.”

“Do I need them?”

I giggle as I button the trousers. He gives me the items one at a time, growing more and more impatient with every piece. But apparently, I manage to get it on in good order, for he doesn’t complain.

“Is it sitting right?”

“Yes, you look fine. Let me just straighten your lapels. There.”

“I still need something for my head and eyes.”

“Yes, I got that bit. I found a laundry sack or something. Since you can’t see anything, I thought you could put that over your head and put this here cap over it. I also found a pair of oven mittens. You will look like a fucking lobster in a suit.”

Chuckling he pulls a hessian bag over my head. It has a linen liner on the inside. Not entirely uncomfortable. He then pushes a cap over it and adjusts it.

“Well, you look all birdy. But no more than so many others. It’ll have to do. Let us go. No, wait! The shoes. See if you will fit these...”

I feel a cool leather shoe on my left foot. I step into it and wiggle my foot around.

“It fits well enough.”

“Good. Here is the other one.”

I get the other shoe and tie them both. The trousers cover my ankles. I bury my hands in the mittens and George grabs my elbow. We are leaving.

“Do you know where we are, George?”

“No, not really. It is not the reception wing. I think this is part of the staff quarters. Be very quiet, just in case someone sleeps here.”

“I will.”

We walk quietly down the hallway, only stopping when George needs to look through a door.

“Here!”

George is excited about something and pulls me into a room. Suddenly I feel a rush of fresh air. He has opened a window.

“There is a fire escape here. It leads into an empty ally. We are fucking out of here! For a minute I thought we would have to fight our way through the reception.”

The rungs clatter as he steps out of the window and onto the grating. With obvious excitement, he steers me out of the window and onto the platform. I can’t quite tell how far up we are, but the street noise seems to come from quite a steep angle.

“How far is it?”

“Not much. Three platforms and we are down. You can make it.”

I grab the handle and step backwards down the ladder. It is not entirely vertical but almost. Step after step after step. Despite the thick wool suit and the coarse hemp bag, I can feel the strong sunlight. Even if there’s shade at the bottom, we still have to get away from the building.

The old man reacted before he sat foot on the pavement. George supported him as he was stepping down. When he froze mid-step, it was obvious he had heard something. George let go of him and looked around frantically. Nothing.

“What is it?”, he whispered.

“They are coming! From over there.”

The old man nodded towards the street some fifty yards ahead. At that moment a group of porters and guards stepped into the alley from the pavement in front of the asylum, quickly capping the entrance completely.

“Holy crap! We are done for.”

George let go of the old man and turned around swiftly. The back of the alley had no exits. Only a long array of trash cans along the wall. To the rear, a high wall was rising above them. There was no way out.

“Lie down on the ground and stay calm. There is nothing to be frightened of. The operation will help you. Don’t you know that?”

A tall guard was walking towards them, ominously waving a baton in front of him. Behind him, two other guards lined up and flanked him. George was getting frantic, looking for an exit. They were in the middle of the alleyway, equal distance from the posse and the closed end. He looked up at the tall brick wall in the bottom. There didn’t appear to be any foothold or holes to grab at. They were not going to drill any holes in his skull, that much he knew. The old man would have to stand his own. Near the bins on his right, there was a glitter on the ground. Glass. George ran towards the bins and bend down for it. An empty wine bottle. He grabbed it by the neck and smashed it against the brick wall. The bottom fell out, leaving a serrated edge. At least he had a weapon. He ran out in the middle of the narrow space between the buildings and turned around himself one full circle. The guards had stopped. The leading man had turned his head and said something to the one on his right, looking behind him. No. Even if they were all looking away right now, there was no way he could reach them in time. The bottle would grant him some prowess but it would not win him this fight. Their vengeance would be grim once they overpowered him. That much was certain. He looked down on the broken bottle. He could cut his jugular and end it right there. He’d be clear of them poking in his brain. Would it hurt, though? He tightened his grip on the bottleneck.

“What the hell! What’s he...”

One of the guards was screaming. A high pitched shrill. George looked up. The old man had precariously jumped the front guard and was clenching him in a tight embrace. His face was buried behind the guard’s left ear. A perverted version of a lover’s kiss. But the embrace itself was not one of a lover. It was a predator. A spider. He was practically squeezing the air out of him now. The scream had died out and turned to a sob and the other guards were finally beginning to react. One started pulling at the old man’s arms and the other was beating at his back with a baton. It didn’t seem to faze him at all. Then the guard fell to his knees. Alessandro released his grip and turned to the one with the baton. The guard stepped back and tried to club him with the baton but the old man had already jumped over him and clasped his jaws around his jugular vein. His arms were flailing and he fell backwards onto the ground. The guard that was left, grasped at the old man while the porters bridging the entrance, were finally beginning to move. Some were backing out, ready to run. Others were looking at their colleagues for support. Two had cleared the ranks and began to move into the alley. One having an electric cattle prod in his left hand. George awoke. Bottle raised, he leapt forward and ran the ten yards between him and the guard in full sprint. The guard clasped helplessly at his fallen colleague and looked up the second George rammed the broken bottle into his face. As the guard fell with his hands covering his maimed face, George jumped over him and continued towards the approaching porters. The one carrying the cattle prod hesitated and stopped, while the one coming from behind him grabbed the sinister looking stick from him and walked with a firm gait towards the galloping inmate. As they were about to collide, George dropped on his side and rolled into the porter. The sudden obstacle confused him but not enough to stop him. He stood his ground and planted the cattle prod in George’s side and engaged it. The impact was profound. All muscle fibres in George’s body contracted immediately. Arms and legs struck out backwards as his back arched in convulsion. With an obscene grin, the porter twisted the prod in the quivering body.

“He is down, Hansson. You can stop now.”

The other porter was grabbing him by the elbow and nodded towards the downed man.

“It is okay. Stop. Stop it!”

He released the prod and looked down on the unconscious man. Saliva had foamed around his mouth and his fingers were trembling crows feet.

“Where is the other one?”

They both looked into the alley. The old man was gone.

“Shit. Did you see what he did?”

“Yeah. Was that the old guy from ward C?”

“I don’t know. It ain’t my wing. But he dropped them both like there was nothing to it. I can’t see him anywhere.”

“No, I can’t eith...”

The guard turned around himself as he felt his skin rupture. Strong, sinewy limbs had him firmly in his grip. His right elbow snapped as the foreign body squeezed him tighter. Teeth sunk deeper and deeper into his neck and blood rushed through his veins. Lips curled around the wound in his neck. Sucking. The strain on his neck was unbearable. It felt like it was about to break. As more wounds opened in his neck, blood gushed out and the pressure drop in his body was tangible. His life was leaving him. The thought paralysed him. He just wanted to do good. See to people who needed help. Now he died. Bled. A tremor went through his heart as it halted for a while, then it resumed its floundering beats only to halt completely a second later. Dear God I never wronged you. Void.

They were alone in the alleyway now. The remaining guards and porters had fled. In the distance sirens and alarm bells sounded like mad insects. The old man knelt down by his unconscious ally on the ground and put a hand on his brow. He was warm to the touch, almost febrile. Blind and blistered, he let his hands slide over the paving. After having moved a bit around, he found one of his mittens. That would not suffice. He needed the hood. He bent over; all but touching the ground with his nose, he sniffed. Blood and ozone covered his senses, obliterated them, but after moving around, he caught the faint scent of hemp far off to the right. There, near the brick wall he found his rag bag. Thus soothed by the shading, he returned his attention to George. He put the uncovered hand in his pocket and slid the other hand along the wall for guidance. When he located the body, he knelt down and grabbed him by one arm and hauled him up. With the other arm around his waist, he slowly manoeuvred George out towards the street. The younger man was utterly limp and offered no assistance. He just hung by the old man’s shoulders like a rag doll.

As they got free of the shade of the alley, the effect of the sun was considerable. Allessandro’s uncovered hand burned as if it was dipped in acid. He could feel blisters forming on the skin. The sound of the sirens was deafening by now. What now? The pavement ended abruptly. The unaccustomed dead weight played tricks and caused the old man to lose his footing and they fell over the curb into the street. There was nothing to help him orientate. Smells were abundant but in all directions. Sounds unfamiliar and the sirens ruined any sense of direction. He managed to get up again and moved as quickly as he could out into the street. Cars honked and screeched around them. No one stopped. No one yelled. Please let the other curb be near. A car screeched to a halt, barely missing them.

“Oh, dear! Are you hurt?!”

A woman’s voice. Frightened but sympathetic.

“I didn’t see you there. What are you doing out here on the street like that?”

An angry undertone in her voice now.

“But, dear me. You are hurt! Here, sit down at the curb here. I can hear fire engines coming. You are seriously burned. Sit here and wait a while.”

“We can’t...”

The old man’s voice was raspy.

“We need to get in the shade. The sun... burns.”

“Why, yes of course. Sit in my car. I can roll it over to the shade.”

She gently grabbed him by the elbow and lead him to the car. She opened the door and guided them into the rear seat. George fell long on the seat. Allessandro crawled into the seat beside him. Crouched.

“Please find shade. Darkness.”

“Yes, of course. I will. I will. Okay, listen. There is a hospital a few blocks from here. Is your head burned too?”

“Yes, it is. Some.”

“I will get you there. Sit tight.”

She hurried to the other side of the car and into the driver’s seat. The car slowly caught up speed and with an anxious look in her face, she turned at a corner, into a street shaded from the sun. Behind them, sirens resounded and as the woman turned at the next corner, keeping her eyes firmly on the road, police cars came to an abrupt halt in front of the asylum.

“What is your name?”

“Liza. You?”

She looked in the rearview mirror.

“Alex.”

“What happened back there?”

“The house caught fire. George here got me out but hit his head.”

“Oh, sweet lord. You have been lucky.”

“I don’t think we need a doctor. Just a bit of water and shade, is all.”

“But your burns need treatment. Your head.”

“My head is not near as bad. I keep on this bag because my eyes are very sensitive and... I lost my goggles. I am blind.”

“Oh, dear. Poor thing.”

“It is nothing. I went blind many, many years ago. My eyes don’t take to sunlight.”

“That is amazing. You carried your friend all that way, not being able to see. That is so brave of you.”

“I had to get away from the fire. It was the only way.”

“Okay, hang on. There is a chemist right here.”

She stopped the car and turned toward Allesandro.

“I will go in and buy some burn lotion to put on your hand. Wait for me here.”

She left the car and walked briskly into the shop. A doorbell rung as she opened the door.

“George, are you awake?”

The old man padded him on the cheek. He moved a little bit but didn’t awaken. He put a hand on his chest. His heartbeat was steady. He’d be okay.

George is moving. We have been sitting here for some time now. The woman is not yet back. There are many people outside the automobile. Too many for me to distinguish her sounds from the surroundings. The last thing I heard of her, was a bell ringing; presumably the doorbell of the apothecary where she went in to buy medicine. She smelled nice. If I hadn’t sated myself on the guards in the alley, I might not have been able to hold myself back. There was no fear in her. No malignancy. Still, her absence worries me. I give George a hard shove. He doesn’t wake up. I shake him harder. He starts moaning. He is coming to. I shake him more and speak out his name.

“Whaa... what?”

“George! Can you move?”

“No... yes, I think I can.”

“Good. You need to wake up. Look out the window. We were rescued by a young woman, but I don’t know where she is. Can you see her?”

“Eh, hang on... aw... that cattle prod hurts like mad. Auuw... what does she look like?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see. She went into a shop here.”

“The drugstore?”

“Is that an apothecary? Yes, that is where she went.”

“Mmhhh, there is a woman gesticulating in there. I think she is giving directions?”

“To whom?”

“I can’t see that. The clerk I guess.”

“I think she has been there too long now. Could she be telling about us?”

“Yeah, she could. Hang on. She may have left the keys in the ignition.”

George is getting up from the broad back seat. He is complaining but the pain appears to be subsiding. At least he is not so much moaning as he is cursing.

“Aw, shucks. It doesn’t have a starter. I have to start it from the outside.”

He engages something on the dash and opens the door. It is obvious that he is trying to be stealthy but I still think he makes too much noise. A moment later, the engine is starting to make a sucking noise. I wonder if the woman can hear it. More noises from the engine and then it springs. It only takes George a second to get back inside the automobile. He slams the door shut and revs up the engine. The second he puts the car in motion, the passenger side door opens.

“What the hell are you doing? This is my car!”

The woman must have heard us from inside the shop and run out in time to catch us. I can hear them scuffling in the front seats while the car is speeding forward.

“You were ratting on us! We could see you! Get out or I’ll throw you out!”

“I did no such thing. The pharmacist wouldn’t let me have the morphine. He called the hospital. They wanted to know what had happened.”

“Yeah, yeah. Nice one, lady. Now, get out!”

“I most certainly will not! You stop and get out.”

The commotion in the front seat gets more animated. George is having trouble keeping the car steady. Then there is a loud rap and the moving stops. George sighs.

“That’ll keep her quiet.”

“Did you hit her?”

“Yup. Just a tap on the cheek, is all. She’s a nice broad, I tell ya. We might still have some fun with her yet.”

My hunger often gets away with me; makes me do untold things. Still, I don’t like the tone in his voice. There are different types of hunger. Not all of them should be fed.

“Let’s find a place to stay first. Do you know of any?”

“Nah, I haven’t lived here long. I don’t know any. At least not anyone alive.”

“Me neither.”

“Perhaps the dame has some identification. Can you have a... oh, sorry. I forgot. I will turn at the next junction and stop there to have a look-see.”

He speeds up and after a while brakes and turns left. There he halts completely and begins rummaging through the woman’s belongings - and, judging from his openly contented mutterings, inside her garments.

“Here it is. Her driver’s license. She doesn’t live far from here. I think it is close by. I have tied her hands with her coat belt in case she wakes; hold on to your hat. We’re outta here!”

He makes a U-turn, much faster than is safe or comfortable, and speeds around the corner from where we came and continues our previous course. We drive for some time. He slows down as if to get his bearings and turns a couple of times. I can hear the woman groaning faintly in front of me. I lay my palm lightly on her neck. Feel her blood in her veins. My cool skin against her feverish trigonum. Sooth her. Then we stop.

“This is it. She a fucking florist. It’s a flower shop!”

George jumps out of the car and a moment later he jerks the passenger door open.

“Upsy Daisy... shit, she ain’t as light as I thought.”

I feel around for the door handle and get out of the back seat. The concrete pavement is uneven and the sunlight makes me dizzy. I stumble uneasily away from the car and get in the shade of a building. I can smell flowers. Their scent fills the air. Not even the sour smell of traffic can overpower it. Next to me, George is breathing hard, carrying the unconscious florist.

“Yes, the key fits. It is here. Hush. If her husband is home, he’ll have it coming.”

“Husband?”

“Yeah, she has a ring. A wedding band.”

“Oh. I see.”

He opens the door and we swiftly enter and close the door behind us. The coolness of the shop tells me that the shades are down. This is wonderful. I move slowly so as not to tip over anything. I take off the one remaining mitten and I keep my hands low and let my fingers reach out. There are plants everywhere I touch. Then a counter. I reach up and remove the hat and rag bag from my head and lay them on the table top. Off to my side, I can hear George opening a door. Then he enters it and calls for me in a low voice.

“This way. This is the private.”

I pick up my things from the counter and follow him into a narrow walkway. I pass a door. There is a smell of mould and dirt. It must be a cellar. I make a note of it. A good place to recuperate. I follow him further. He turns and walks up a staircase. Still no other sounds. We are almost certainly alone. We enter a room and George slows to a halt.

“George, can you close the drapes? It is awfully bright in here.”

I back up to get back in the shade of the landing outside the room.

“Yeah, sure. One sec. Gotta drop this here nugget on the bed.”

I can hear him throwing the woman unceremoniously down onto a spring mattress. Then he moves around for a while, opening and closing drawers. I can hear the shades being drawn.

“There ya’ go. I have tied ’er up and gagged her - and drawn the shades for you. Let’s have a look at this place... see if they have some giggle water ’round.”

I let George pass me as I enter the bedroom. I walk around slowly and let my senses get a feel for the small room. It doesn’t smell like there is anyone else living here. Apart from George’s poignant odour, I sense only the sweet smell of the young woman. Not just her actual smell but a pervasive presence in the room. I walk to the bed and put my hands down. It appears that George has just dropped her onto the duvet and left her coat on. Her breath is still shallow. It must have been quite a blow if she is still unconscious. I put my hand to her throat and touch lightly with the tip of my fingers. Her pulse is slow but steady. Then she jerks violently. She is awake! She starts moaning. Tries to scream through the tightly bound gag. Her breath has turned erratic. Twisting. The knots must be well done to keep her down like that. She reminds me of the strapped down patients at the asylum. Except that this one I feel sorry for. I contemplate how one person is an anonymous source of blood and the other a sympathetic being. What is it that makes the difference? How do I decide? I lay my hand on her brow and shush her.

“Be still, girl. We will not harm you. I will not let him.”

Her wiggling lessens but does not stop.

George is calling from somewhere. Downstairs, perhaps.

“I found brandy. And food. And you know what else? There ain’t no husband ’I can see. Her name is on all the letters. We’ve hit the big one here man.”

“That’s good, George.” I shout back, “but what about the shop?”

“What about it?”

“Won’t people notice if it stays closed?”

“Nah. It’s good. Come down here and eat some.”

“I don’t need to, George. I will stay here in the dark.”

I sit down on the bed next to the woman. Her arms are tied together and onto the bedpost above her head. I put my hand on her arm to calm her.

“If I untie the restraint, will you promise me to keep quiet? It is for your own safety. My young friend does not appear to be of sound mind.”

I can hear a sound. As if she is moving her head.

“I am blind, remember? I cannot see you.”

I move my hand to grab around her fingers.

“Squeeze my fingers to say yes.”

There is a pause. Then she squeezes my hand. Hard.

“Okay. Keep still.”

I put my hands behind her head to find the knot. I can hear her breath quickening. What has he used to muzzle her? I grope around and find a clasp. A belt buckle. It is very tight. A wonder she can even breathe. There. The buckle comes loose. Aside from the leather belt, he has stuffed a piece of cloth in her mouth. As I remove it, she gasps frantically for air. She must have been close to asphyxiation. I feel another surge of empathy swell within me. It has been numberless years since I last felt that emotion. Centuries. Yes, there is definitely something wrong with me.

“Please help me!”, she whispers. “Untie me. Please!”

“I can’t. Not yet. We need an understanding. George and I are fugitives. You know that already, don’t you?”

“Yes. But I won’t tell. I promise.”

“I believe you. But George is not likely to. But rest assured, that I will not let him come near you again.”

“But you said it yourself. You are blind!”

She is hissing that last word. Blind.

“Yes, I am blind. But I have other senses. Don’t fret.”

I straighten up and listen for sounds downstairs. George is shuffling around. Chewing. Sometimes I can hear a belch. Sometimes a gulp. Suit him. Him being drunk when he comes up here only makes things that much easier for me.

“Liza - don’t fear. I will have George cooled down soon and then I will free you. But I still need your help. We are fugitives, yes. But we are not criminals. We were held captive in a hospital against our will. I implore you to see it in your heart to help us. Tied down, you won’t do anything rash. Think instead.”

I pad her lightly on her belly and stand up. I smile in her direction. I don’t know how I look. I hope that I am not too scruffy and that the smile imbues her with at least some comfort.

George had scrambled up the stairs and now stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorpost dangling a half-empty bottle loosely from his hand. He had a nefarious look on his face. He glanced at the old man sitting straight up on the bed. There was something eerie about him. A foreboding. What had he done in that alley back at the hospital? He had torn at least two guards to pieces and possibly more after he himself had been electrocuted. It had looked almost like he drank from them. Squeezed them like ripe fruit.

“What happened back there?”

“Where?”

“In the back alley. The guards.”

“I bit them. Bled them.”

“Yeah, but...”

He wanted to ask but didn’t know exactly what to ask. Bit them? You can’t take down a grown man by biting him. Can you? He studied the old man. Had he changed? It was as if he was less scrawny than when they left the hospital. He had his left hand on the woman’s knee; just sitting there on the bed. It occurred to George that there was a possessiveness in the gesture. Blind eyes pointing straight at him. All the benevolence in the world could not hide the message. Stay away. He let his eyes pan over the woman once more. She lay there stiff with fear, looking up in the air.

“I will go and have a look at the store. I left some bread in the kitchen, if you are hungry.”

George sighed as he straightened up. He went over to the window by the bed and opened it. He looked down at the bound woman with an inscrutable look and shuffled back out into the hallway.

“What do you want?”

The woman’s voice was trembling with fear. Her face was red from long dried tears. The touch of anger that had filled her voice earlier had vanished. There was just anxiety.

“I am not sure what George really wants but all I want is to be free. Where is your husband?”

“He died. He left me for ano... he fell off a building.”

She sniggered.

“You pushed him out over another woman?”

“No, he actually did fall. I just didn’t feel very sorry about it, that’s all.”

“Oh, I see.”

“So you run a store on your own?”

“Yes. I have a woman helping out on Fridays. I always have a lot of bouquets to tie on Fridays. Saturday morning is where men go home from their mistresses and need to apiece their wives.”

“That is very cynical of you, Liza. You were one of them.”

“Yeah, I know. Snivelling idiots - both of them.”

She laughed.

“How did you get those burns if it wasn’t your house?”

“The sun. I get sunburns very fast.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. The sun doesn’t burn that fast. It is not even high summer yet.”

“It is true. That is what took my eyes as well. Many years ago.”

“That’s the stupidest explanation I ever heard.”

Alessandro sat a while in thought and then stood up and walked to the window. Holding out his left arm, he opened a flap of the curtain. At first, nothing happened. Then the skin started reddening. Very slowly at first, then increasingly fast. Liza had her neck craned back to be able to see his burning arm. Her eyes showed a sense of awe but she didn’t say anything. Alessandro withdrew his arm and closed the curtain. Blisters had formed on the lower arm. None too alarming for a normal burn but plainly visible.

“You don’t look like an albino. What are you?”

“Sensitive. That’s all. Sensitive.”

“You take me for a dumb Dora, do you? Sensitive! Shish.”

“No, I don’t think you are dumb. How about the hospital? You said you had talked to the hospital.”

“What? Oh, yes... at the apothecary. The chemist was already on the telephone, talking to someone at the hospital. They had been informed of a fray somewhere, with several wounded. He... the chemist... said one was wrapped in rags... you were wrapped in rags.”

“So you told them of us.”

“No, I didn’t. I think I wanted to. I never got around to it. But he saw you! The chemist saw you abduct me. It is just a matter of time before they come here.”

“I know we can’t stay. I just can’t move very well without George.”

“Loosen me and I can help you. I promise I won’t turn you in.”

“You do the same as George does.”

“What?”

“Your voice changes when you want something. It is very obvious.”

“What the hell do you expect? That I yell at you while asking?”

“You just did.”

He chuckled as he sat down on the bed again.

“I think you are a good person, Liza. But that doesn’t mean that I trust you. You see, I don’t think that you think the same of me. And it is that exact thing we need to agree upon to build trust.”

“But... can you imagine what it is like? Being tied up like an animal.”

“In fact, I can. I have been strapped down with leather belts every day for many, many years. For fear of what I am.”

“Sensitive!”, Liza sneered. “Right.”

She peered at the old man. She was blinded by rage, she knew that. But she had never done anything. All she had done was being friendly. And now she was lying here, tied up like a pig for the market. The old man turned his head and looked at her with his blind, unseeing eyes.

“I will untie you. But I want you to promise me not to flee or fight as long as George is in the house.”

“You mean that I am allowed to fight when he is gone?”

Her voice was thick with sarcasm.

“Yes, you are. You won’t have to, but yes.”

“Then I promise.”

Allesandro laid his hand on her clavicle. The coolness of his skin was comforting but having his hand so near her throat less so.

“I want to believe you Liza but I don’t. Not quite. You must trust me, that what I say is the truth. I will you no harm. This was not my doing.”

“I know. I promise you I will remain calm. But if your friend gets near me, I will run!”

“Will you, now?”

George was leaning against the doorpost with his hands in his trouser pockets. He had an unlit cigarette in his mouth. The draft from the window must have drowned his breath while standing outside. He was fingering something in his pocket.

“I found a little persuader in the shop. You shouldn’t leave those things around loaded. Don’t you know that most murders are committed with the victim’s own gun?”

“George... we don’t have any business with this woman. We are out now. There is no reason why we stay together. We could just...”

“No, you are right. There is no reason for you to stay here. Can you buzz off yourself or do you need a guide dog to get down the stairs? Oh, don’t get up Alex! I really do have a gun in my hand...”

He produced a revolver from his pocket, well aware that the blind man would not see it. The heft of the metal alone was reassuring, though.

″...even if you can’t see that I am holding it. You can hear it, can you not?”

He spun the cylinder and watched with content as the old man turned his head ever so slightly. Yes, he had recognized the sound of the ratchet.

“It is time you left us alone. I don’t think I want you in the house, actually. You must leave completely. The shop is facing east. That should be ample shade for you to get away in without being cooked.

“Okay. I will leave, George. Let me get up.”

George raised the gun and pointed it straight at the old man’s head. He stepped backwards, up against the wall and watched him closely as he began to rise from the bed. Then it was as if he transformed in mid-motion. The old man had risen to a standing position but not yet straightened his back. Now, suddenly his legs appeared to give in and his torso spun towards George. The speed was unimaginable. George could feel the metal of the trigger against his index finger and the pull from the tendons as he squeezed it. The outer phalanx of his finger started bending as he squeezed. He drew his shoulder backwards attempting to have the heavy revolver track the impossible apparition coming towards him. There was a brief tremor in the pistol as the coil released and the hammer began to move. The primer ignited, releasing the first hint of sulphur and then the charge exploded, propelling the bullet out of its case in a bellow of smoke and noise. Before the round had even left the barrel, his right arm came off. The first sensation was one of amazement; how could an arm even go missing? The old man had grabbed his forearm with both hands in one impossibly fast motion. Grabbed it and twisted. Like when you tear the wings of a roast chicken, ligaments and muscle reached their limits and snapped. Then came the elbow joint. First, the radius tore free of its socket and then the ulna came off. The synovial membrane burst its fluids into the elbow capsule, making a popping sound; a childish approximation of the foregone shot. Amazement was beginning to give way for a new and strangely contradictory sensation of arousal and pain. George’s brain was frantically trying to muffle the nervous system by an endless production of endorphins. Pain and joy. Pain and joy. Then, as the outer dermis ruptured and his forearm separated, his brain finally responded to the pain and the sudden drop in blood pressure and simply shut down. Gaping briefly at the ceiling and the hole from the bullet and the severed limb hanging there in mid-air, he passed out and bleeding profusely he collapsed on the floor. 

The smell of his blood makes me light headed. Almost effervescent. To want for so long and then hold back. I must be in control. Show restraint. Be human. Ha! I turn to the severed arm in my hand. I don’t see it but the habit is ingrained in me. Deeply rooted with the first impressions of the infant seeing its mother for the first time. I bend down and carefully place the rag-doll limb on the carpet. It squishes as I move my feet. A sucking sound. The blood loss must be considerable to form a pool like that. Bending over, my fingers locate George’s head; his neck. The pulse is faint but regular.

“I think you need to tie up his arm. Can you make a tourniquet? Liza? - Are you awake?”

I turn to the bed and pad for her. She jerks violently away from me as my hand touches her side. Her breath quickens. She is conscious but terrified. I put my hand on her upper arm to calm her.

“Be still, Liza. I will not do you any harm. Please believe that. He would have shot me.”

She tries to speak but the words drown in heaving gasps.

“Look at yourself! You’re a monster! How can you expect me to calm down with a bloody hell hound at my side?”

“I am not... look... I could not be sure he would miss me. I had to immobilize him.”

“You don’t get it, do you?! I don’t care about that disgusting accomplice of yours. I am tied to a bed next to a monster who rips off people’s limbs! That is what I care about.”

“Lie still. I will untie you.”

She mumbles something. A series of words and syllables muddled together. I don’t think she means me well. I put my right hand down where I expect her feet to be. It falls on her shin. Like before she jerks violently as I slide my hand to her ankles and locate the ties. It’s a belt or strap made of leather. It has been looped through the buckle and the draw from the panicking woman has led it to cut into her flesh. Her feet must be completely numb by now.

“Please relax your legs so I can untie this.”

At first, there is no reaction, then she slacks on the strap. It isn’t easy to release. The clasp has become twisted and is jamming itself.

“Do you have a knife in here? It is knotted.”

“Can’t you rip it?”

“No, I might tear your ankle.”

“There may be one in the second drawer in the chest. I am not certain.”

From the faint change in her voice, I can tell she is pointing with her nose. I smile. Funny how people always assume gestures to be generally understood - indeed, as is my case - even seen. I turn and step away from the bed, careful to step over George leaning against the wall where he fell. The chest is low. The drawer binds slightly as I open it. It is filled with pieces of cloth. Napkins I think, or small towels. Apprehensive not to cut myself if I come upon a blank blade, I rummage through the towels. In the back, I find a bundle with a straight razor and a leather strap tied together with a wristwatch. A small box that smells of lathering soap falls to the floor. It must be her husband’s shaving kit and watch. It strikes me as strange; saving such a personal thing from a cheating husband.

“Well, time is the school in which we learn.” I muse to myself.

“Time is the fire in which we burn... That’s a strange poem to know, for a convict.”

“I heard it recently. A striking image. I don’t know who wrote it, though. Besides, I am not a convict.”

“I don’t know the title of the book, but his name is Delmore something. It came out last year. I have written it on many funeral wreaths in the shop.”

I nod and then open the razor and slide my finger over the side of the blade. It has a slight damask pattern in the steel. An expensive knife, surely. It is perfectly smooth and well cared for. I go back to the bed and I cut the leather strap just after the buckle and fold the knife before prying the strap apart. She twitches a bit. Blood must be returning to her feet. Painfully, no doubt. I move up along the bed and feel for her restrained wrists. Her hands are tied with another type of strap. I think it is a belt. I lay down the knife and reach over her head to get the buckle free. It is not as tight as the strap at her feet. It comes free very easily. Almost immediately the woman rolls over the far side of the bed, away from me. I straighten up slowly. Face her. I can tell from her breath that she has taken on a defensive stance on the opposite side of the bed.

“Get out of my house!” She yells - screams, almost.

“Just listen...”

“Get out or I will cut you! I Will!”

“You took the razor!? - You cannot use that as a weapon.” I know I shouldn’t laugh at her but I can’t help it. “The tang is too short. There is much too little leverage. You may cut my skin but none too bad; chances are you will clasp it on your fingers instead.”

“Try me! I dare you!”

I can hear her desperation.

“Why did you keep that?”

“What?”

“Why did you keep the razor and the timepiece? Why reminisce over an adulterous, dead husband?”

“He... what? He really is dead.”

“Is he?”

“Yes. Besides, why do you even care?”

“No, you’re right. It is not my business.”

Behind me, George is moaning. Despite the pools of blood; surprisingly he is still alive. Frankly, it doesn’t really matter to me if he lives or dies. A dead body complicates things a bit and I would have to get away from the house if he dies. I’d prefer to stay. With an armed and angry woman in front of me, that seems an improbable notion. I will be vulnerable outside.

She is moving. She is sneaking around the foot end of the bed. I could very easily stop her but I remain motionless. Let her move. She is behind me now. She had the surprising composure to pick up the razor the moment she was freed. She may still have it in her to attack me from behind.

“Heyaaa... bakehead...”

I can hear Liza freezing to a halt behind me as George murmurs at me from the floor. He is a tough one.

“This hurts like a helluva-something... could you... put a band-aid on this for me?”

He makes a bubbling sound before drifting off into unconsciousness again. Liza is sighing behind me.

“You stay where you are while I dress his wound. You may be too quick for me, but then at least pretend to do what I ask. Okay?”

Her alternating between furious vengeance and empathy is making me waver. She stirred something in me from the beginning but this faltering behaviour only adds to that sympathy. The only way I can make her understand that I will her no harm is to be still - prove her wrong. I put my hands behind my back and lower my shoulders.

“Tie me. That way you don’t have to fear me.”

“What? You just want me to come nearer.”

“No. I promise I will stay absolutely still.”

I kneel down, still holding my hands behind my back. I can hear her breath taking on another sound. She has closed her mouth. Then her steps. She is moving apprehensively towards the bed. Then I feel the leather strap around my wrists. Not a very good restraint but I just need her to think it is. I can hear her walk out of the room. She would have all the time in the world to call the police or the hospital guards. I will just have to trust that she doesn’t. I can hear her rummage through something in another room. After several minutes she comes back and sits down behind me. From her muffled mutterings I can guess that George’s wound must be serious.

“I think perhaps you should pick up the gun from where it fell before working on him. He may not be completely gone.”

She moves about a bit and then picks up something from the floor. I can only assume it is the gun. She makes another series of disapproving grunts and gets back to working on my nescient, fellow fugitive.

“I will untie you now. Help me put your friend up on the bed.”

“He still is not my friend, but yes. I will.”

I can feel her fingers on my wrist. They are sticky with half coagulated blood.

“Really, he should have the stump sewn tight. I can’t do that. He needs a surgeon.”

“It will have to do for now. I can’t move outside without him.”

“Mmhh...”

She hadn’t tightened the strap very much so I don’t have to work up blood circulation as my hands are freed. I get up. Slowly. I can only assume she still has the gun with her. And, more importantly, I still have this unusual sympathy for her.

“You need to take his shoulders. He is too heavy for me.”

I retrace my steps back to George and locate his shoulders. He is not very heavy. Liza grabs his feet but obviously can’t lift him off of the floor. He slides across the soiled rug and we manage to drag him onto the bed.

“He will not survive if he doesn’t get to a hospital. The wound is very frayed and will surely fester.”

“No, I am sure you are right. I just don’t see how we can get him there.”

“Turn yourself in.”

“I can’t do that. I will be locked away for good and a for me that means a very long time.”

“Mmhhh, so you say. You can’t stay here, though.”

“I know. May I at least rest a while?”

“Yes. You may. I can get you a pallet.”

“You don’t have to. I can rest in a chair. As long as it is dark.”

She makes a few noises I can’t make sense of and then leaves. I can hear her footsteps as she walks out into the landing and down the stairs. Not yet fully descended she stops and bursts into a heavy sob. I would do so myself, except I can’t. I haven’t for decades. I often envy that in others. She appears to quickly get a hold of herself and with a determined stride continues her descent down the staircase. I can only wait now, to see if she will call the police or not.

A pad on my knee. I must have dozed off. I haven’t before! Not once in my long life. Curious. Another pad and the mild voice of the young woman.

“I brought you a glass of water.”

“Ah, thank you.”

I put out my hand and receive a cool glass. It tastes fresh and soothes wonderfully.

“That was wonderful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She pauses, “I need to know...”

“Know what?”

“I don’t know... what you are?”

“Just a man.”

“The hell you are. No one moves that fast. No one tears off a man’s arm. Your friend mentioned that you attacked a policeman. Your... sensitivity.”

“I... I can’t explain it.”

“Try. At least try. Tell me your life’s story.”

“Where do I begin.”

“Well, that should be bloody obvious, don’t you think. Try with the beginning.”

“Okay. I was born in Romania. In... 1905.”

“Aha. So you tell me that you are, what? Twenty-eight? By the looks of it, you are at least 30 years wrong. Try again... Look, you can go from this house this instance or tell me the truth. Surely the truth can’t be the lesser alternative.”

“No, you are right. It isn’t. I don’t know exactly when I was born. I come from Romania. That much is true. I came to the USA during the war of independence, by way of France. It hadn’t ended yet. The war.”

“So, instead of twenty-eight, you are now suddenly more than 150 years old?! What do you take me for? An idiot?”

“No. I was born much earlier than that, in fact. But I was confined. It muddles my memory. I was locked up in a French dungeon for many years. They knew what I was. Had their fun putting me in the sun and see me char. That is where I lost my sight. However painful, my skin always healed - albeit increasingly scarred. My eyes never recovered.”

I can sense her mouth moving. Trying to formulate something but not quite knowing how. No one believes the truth and no one believes the lies. I have to get better at one of them.

“You have been blind for 150 years?”

Her question is more one of disbelief than one of scepticism.

Liza looked at the old man sitting in her old rocking chair by the bed. The skin of his face and arms was covered, not with tiny wrinkles as she had first thought, but with a myriad of tiny scars from ruptures constantly forming over previously regenerated ruptures, to finally compose a chaotic pattern in the skin with scars crossing other scars. If he was telling the truth, the pain must have been excruciating; his torturers depraved perverts. In fact, he didn’t have any wrinkles at all. Apart from the scars, his skin was immaculate. If it wasn’t for his posture and manners, he could have passed for a young man. Apollonian. He didn’t have the Apollonian temper, so what about his lasciviousness? She could feel a slight blush and chuckled to herself at the thought. He was lean. Thin, in fact. Nothing to suggest strength or speed. Imprisoned. Burned. How long had he been locked up here in the USA? She sat down on the bed next to the unconscious fugitive.

“Ple... ahem... please continue. Do you have no recollection of the time before?”

“Not much. I can remember bits and fragments from different places and times. Nothing consistent.” He paused, “Why did you smile?”

“What? I just thought of something. Please continue.”

“I think perhaps I have existed always. Some faint fragments are of human beings on all four. Game. In my times of incarceration, I have often contemplated eternity. Consider this... look forward into the everlasting. It is difficult but it is moderately possible. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, I suppose it is. It just tones off into oblivion.”

“Exactly. Now try to think backwards in time. Infinitely far back. You can’t imagine a time with no beginning, can you?”

“No, you are right. I can’t.”

“That has been on my mind as long as I remember. Where did I begin? Who gave birth to this abomination? Several religions have myths of fallen deities. Angels, I presume.”

“You reckon you’re an angel?”

There was a faintly mocking tone in her voice.

“No. I just say that when sitting alone in the dark, year after year, your mind starts wandering. Arguing with oneself is never conclusive. You quickly begin to agree when there are no counter-arguments. There rarely are with only one participant.” He laughed mildly at this, “One day a new recruit came to me in my cell. They must have forgotten to tell him about me. The others had been very careful not to get too close to me. They never opened my manacles. This young soldier probably just saw an old, soiled and grimy figure on the floor and thought me harmless. He hammered out the pins and released me. I remember being so surprised that I didn’t move for a long time. It was not until he bent over to grab my hair that I reacted. I drank him in one long guzzle. It was the first blood...”

“You drank his blood?!”

“Yes. That is what I do. Sometimes... like now, where I think me civilized... I feel a deep self-reproach. That I don’t belong in humanity. Then when I feed, I am on a high and forget it all.”

“Tell me, have you read Bram Stoker?”

“No. I haven’t read books since my blindness. Long before that, as a matter of fact. I have heard a few poems that stick. But not actual novels. I heard it mentioned once, though. In the hospital ward. Referring to me, I think.”

“There was a film last year or perhaps the year before in the movie theatre. A Hungarian actor played Dracula. I don’t recall his name. Bill Luigoso I think. I watched it with my... husband and I screamed my heart out. Now I am sitting here with a real vampire and I bring you cool water. Can you see the irony?”

“Ah, I think perhaps it was that film they talked about in the hospital then. Not the book. Anyway, I know the legends. I don’t fit very well into those stories. I am not contagious. My constitution does not transmit like a pestilence. Not like they portray it, at least.”

“How do you mean? Not through bites?”

“Eh, I have done... I did only one... turning. I may have done it earlier but if so I don’t remember. The one time I did it, is when I was caught in France.”

“And the one you... turned? What about him?”

“She... it was a woman. She died. The soldiers killed her. They tortured her in front of me and killed her.”

“In the sun?”

“Yes. In the sun. I have never really gotten over it. Despite me having my revenge.”

“So not only did you sit blinded a lifetime in a cell. You did it with the memory of your love. Scorched to death by your captors. That is so sad.”

“Yes, I loved her. Dearly.”

“That is what you mean when you say a bite is not enough, isn’t it?”

“Yes. It takes love. Love and endless desire. A will to sustain eternity. Embrace it.”

“It sounds very angelic, actually.” She sighed and then continued, “Okay, carry on. You got out?”

“Yes. I took his clothes. I had been deprived of clothing since my capture. His uniform directly on my skin was a strange and unfamiliar sensation. My hair had regularly been singed off but had grown quite long nonetheless. I tied it up to get my ears free and left the cell. Navigating the prison by sound alone was difficult but I could hear the bustle from the streets and let myself be guided by that. I didn’t meet many guards on my way out but those I did I bled and drank. At first, I wanted to make it hurt as much as I could but pain didn’t relieve my lust for vengeance. It just made the blood turn bitter. Instead, I chose to savour the blood and gain strength. Then, when I got to the gates, I waited. Tried to get my bearings and sound the waters, so to speak. It was a dangerous balance to be made. It was only a matter of time before someone would sound call alarm. But after a while, I felt that I could place objects in the square or crossing outside the prison. Then I ran towards what I assumed was a carriage. The sun burned my skin as I ran. But I managed to get to the wagon and drag myself underneath it. I fell a couple of times and feared for my discovery. But in the end, I managed to get a grip onto something in the undercarriage and heave myself up under it.”

“And they didn’t see you?”

“Not at first. It wasn’t until later that someone must have spotted me and yelled at the driver. But luckily it was in the narrow streets of a small village, so I could escape without them catching me.”

The old man turned to her face and stared directly into her eyes. The sensation was disturbing. The blind eyes burning into hers.

“Hark; relentless swells on faraway shores

Bells so nigh we tremble too.

Foaming ghosts that shed their lies:

“Thine lives must end so soon”.

Thus foretold we stand opposed

Our might but that of a moth.

Love shall die as you and I

No oil shall sooth the prophets’ will.

Nor will it stop, the stories told;

Deaf or not we hear them still.”

“I remember that verse still; from when I left her ghost behind in that prison. In that cursed country.”

“It’s a bit ominous, isn’t it?”

“Yes, perhaps it is. It’s a lie, really. Death becomes a dream when it is out of reach. Like paradise to you.” His shoulders fell slightly forward, “Now it is your turn.”

“I am just a florist. I have nothing to tell.”

“Everybody does. It doesn’t have to be dramatic.”

“Okay. I was born in Pennsylvania. I moved here when I got married. Robert, my husband, was a gardener and started this shop. At first, it was landscaping but business was failing and I got the idea to start the flower shop. It thrived and my husband withered. He turned to drink and then gambling... then he stayed out all night more and more often. As I told you, I would have cheating husbands come in on weekends to buy flowers - absolution - for their wives. When one day he came home with a golden watch for me, I knew. He was buying remission.” Her voice had become harder now, “I threw him out.”

“So, you didn’t kill him?”

“No. His mistress did. She pushed him off a balcony in a dance hall. People said they had had a quarrel and she had pushed him. Drunk as he was, he had fallen over the railing and broke his neck in the fall. At least, I assume it was his mistress. I never knew her.”

“So, the watch isn’t his. It is yours.”

“Yes.”

“And the razor?”

“That was my wedding gift to him. I keep it as a reminder. For so long, all I wanted to do was slash his throat with it. I have it to hold on to that memory. You know what they say - a love lost is easily confused for hate.”

“No, I had never heard that. It is still not a good murder weapon, though.” He mused.

“Perhaps you are right. But is a good reminder.”

“I can understand that.”

The young woman stood up and cleared her throat.

“I think I will tie him down. Just in case he wakes up.”

She pointed at the bed before realizing that no one could see her. Heavy footed she left the bedroom. Allesandro felt his mind wander with her footsteps. Followed them around the storey on blinded wings as she moved.

I wonder what it is about this woman that affects me so. She is not overly sympathetic toward me. In fact, I would have thought it odd if she were, considering what we have put her through in our escape. But she does stir something in me. I have touched her only a few times and never saw her in my blindness. I know nothing about her. Yet, the reverberations of her yanking at my soul are undeniable proof; evidence of me slipping. How I once lapsed before, I do again. How the heart may turn off reason for its own profit.

“You didn’t fall asleep again, did you?”

“No, no... yes, I may have drifted. It confuses me.”

“I got some string to tie him down.”

“George?”

“Yes. But I would like to tie you too. So I may sleep a bit. Do you mind?”

“No, of course not. I promise you I will not move but you may tie me if it makes you more comfortable.”

“It would, yes.”

She tinkers with something and starts lacing my hands. Not tightly but much more securely than previously with the leather straps. Satisfied she moves on to my ankles and soon I am firmly strapped into my seat.

“I know you don’t mean me harm but I can’t fully trust you. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, it is fine. You may not trust me but I trust you.”

“Thank you. Let me just tie George down. Then I will sleep for a while and then think of what next to do. I can’t have you here. Certainly not him. Anyway, he will die here.”

Her dress crackles as she gets up from her crouch before me. Her movements are sleight and economic. She makes very little noise as she steps to the bed. Then a slightly different noise. A creak of a spring. I haven’t heard her sit down. Did George just shift in the bed? I can hear Liza’s breath but not George’s. Either it is faint or he is holding it. As I open my mouth to warn her, there is a violent jolt followed by a choking sound. I can hear George now. Moaning with exertion. From Liza only a frantic fight for air. I cannot imagine how he can choke her with one arm and at the same time keep her arms from flailing. All she would have to do is hit the stump and he would surely let go. Except, of course, if it has gone all numb. The fight takes on another form. There is a beating sound as if someone is constantly hammering a foot into the floorboards. I let myself be tied to a chair and this time she did a better job of it. However hard I try, my hands are firmly fixed. I can find no leverage.

“Let her go, George! Let her go!”

I get only a series of moans in return and then a heavy thump. They have fallen onto the floor. One of them have. Both perhaps. Yes, they both have. Now the thumping sound continues. Taken by surprise it usually takes a person less than 2 minutes to suffocate. How long has it been now? The struggle would accelerate it. He must have a less constrictive hold of her than I thought since she can still fight back as he does. I am sitting here as I did a century ago in France. I watched her die then, tied to a wall. I watch her die now tied to a chair. How much easier would it not be to regard these humans as plain fodder and not interact with them? Never cross their paths. Stay isolated. Alone. The sound has stopped. It is quiet. No, there is breathing. A thin, rasping sound. It is not Liza I hear. It is George. He is conscious and catching up. His second wind.

“Now... you mean crumb...” George rasps at me, “You are in hot one there, ain’t you? I think I will...”

Caught in a coughing fit he moves closer. He puts a hand on my cheek. Almost caressing me.

″...I will get you a better view from over at the window. Isn’t that nice?”

He drags at the chair. Doing it with one arm is hard work in itself. A major blood loss is certainly not making it easier. But he manages. My mind races back to the Saint-Antoine and the endless torture. Please no. I can’t bear this. But a man driven by vengeance is strong. Inch by inch he drags me across the floor.

“They are looking for two fugitives... without you, I stand a better chance of vanishing. It’s not...” A new fit stops him, “It’s not personal... oh, wait. It is. It is!”

The chair almost topples over as it catches on the rug. There is a bit of commotion as he tries to drag the carpet out of the way. He appears to give up. Failing to move it, he must have managed to lift a corner instead. The chair doesn’t catch anymore and my journey towards the sun seems inevitable.

“Well, I do hope you ill enjoy your spot in the sun... can I get you a pop soda and an ice cream? I can put that minxy little dame in a swimsuit for you.” He laughs, “It wou...”

He screams. All I can hear is heavy moans and strangely ringing noises. Metallic. George screams and screams. Then a loud smack followed by pain-stricken moan and a load crash from shattered glass and wood. It was Liza, no doubt. What had she done? Everything is silent now. All I can hear is the breeze outside and birds. The curtains are still drawn. Not completely. The sun stings. Then I hear voices from outside. People in the street are talking. Someone yells. There are footsteps from people running. Did they fall out of the window? Poor woman. She should have had no part in this.

The sun is burning now. I can smell my charring skin. Outside the voices have dampened. There are more people now, I think, but they speak more lowly. Then a siren. Two, I think. The strings are tighter now, as my skin is swelling. I can feel drops of blood around my wrists. Downstairs I can hear a door being pried open. They try to do it quietly. Apprehensive. Afraid of what they might find here. Steps on the stairs. There are many. Four or five.

“Police! Put your hands up!”

“I... can’t...” My voice fails me.

“What the hell is this?!”

“He has been burned. Is this acid?”

“Hey, don’t move him. We need to wait for the nurse.”

“The sun...”

“What? I don’t get a word of it.”

“Neither did I. Hand me that razor there on the floor. These ties are very tight.”

“You think it’s a good idea to cut him free?”

“Look at him. He can’t hurt a fly.”

“Yeah, well. I ain’t no fly I tell you.”

The men all laugh.

“You sure look like one, Johnson. A big, fat blowfly.”

Another fit of laughs.

“Sergeant! Go down and fetch the ambulance nurse.”

“Is he done down there?”

“Yes, as far as I can see he has covered them up down there.”

The policeman by the window whistles loudly through the opening.

“We have a live one up here! Could do with some medical!” He yells.

I hear no reply but a few moments later I hear steps on the stairs. A big man. Breathing hard. He makes a sound of surprise as he comes in the room. It must look like a killing field. It is a killing field.

“What the hell happened here? Is that his arm lying there?”

“Whose arm?”

“The guy on the pavement had lost an arm. He was slashed to pieces by a sharp knife.”

One of the policemen is vomiting. Obviously, they hadn’t seen the severed arm as they came in. Now he has.

“This razor here is soaked. Must be the murder weapon, then.”

“Nah, you can’t cut off an arm with that.”

“What do you suggest? That he lost it blowing his nose?”

“Don’t be an idiot! What about this guy? Why is he still tied here? He is dying you moron.”

Someone drags the chair away from the window and the strings are being cut from my wrists. The pain is unbelievable. My skin is bursting. Blood seeps out from the charred skin. Relentless swells on faraway shores; How those words ring in my heart. Death. The dream I can never hope to reach. My paradise lost. These people who have it within their grasp, cling to life. And this poor woman remiss in her own to save mine. Mine, which was never lost nor could it be. She had infused my being with a form of hope. A warmth. I didn’t know her. Only just met her. Still, she lifted me up. In death she still does. The loss of this brief acquaintance is tangible. Reliance, I think. It lifts when you have it and it drags when it is lost. I am being dragged now. A calm begins to flow within me. I am feeling. I have emotion. Sadness. A stint of freedom, of sympathy. Now a captive. Still, the salient tears I have so often yearned to let flow, stay behind blind eyes.

There was a buzz of activity in the hospital as they brought in the stretcher. A severely burned man, they said. Third degree burns to face, arms and torso. Few survived such injuries.

“Make way, make way!” Someone shouted.

“There is crust formation and separation of the dermis. We need colloidal resuscitation...”

″...carbolic acid...”

“We cannot operate...”

″...morphine... ...pain...”

“Can you hear me?”

The young doctor had his mouth close to the burned man’s ear. He could smell the skin. A bitter scent.

“You don’t have to speak. Your vocal cords may be damaged. If you can nod or signal me in some way.”

Nothing. He looked up at the visitor.

“I don’t think he can hear us, doctor Aubern. I can’t release him to your facility until he is properly recovered.”

“So be it. I am sure it was he who fled us with the man who is now dead. George McKenzie.”

“Is that his name?”

“No, that was the dead patient. The dismembered man. This man here is nameless. He never spoke. Never told us his name.”

“Mmhh. I will have you know the minute he comes around.”

“Strap him.”

“Excuse me?”

“Strap him tightly until we come and get him. He is very dangerous.”

“If you insist. I really don’t...”

“Just do as I say.”

“Sir. Can you hear me?”

He had asked him this question a million times now. The burns were subsiding. Astonishingly the skin seemed to recover with only scarring of the separation wounds. Burns always scar across the tissue. Melt the epidermis and the nerve cells. Leave the skin senseless. This man reacts to touch. His skin is reforming. The brain appears to have suffered irreparable damage. There is no reaction to questions. He doesn’t move. His eyes are fixed. But touching his skin causes a slight change in breath. His heartbeat quickens. He sighed a bit more heavily than he meant to as he got up and glanced at the burned man one last time.

“Goodbye, sir. I would have loved to hear your story.”

“Did you telephone doctor Aubern at the psychiatric hospital. His patient is ready for him”

“Yes, doctor. They have him scheduled for surgery tomorrow morning.”

“What surgery?”

“A leucotomy, sir.”

“What on earth for? He has been lying immobile the past five months.”

“I am just referencing what he said, sir.”

“Yes, well. Thank you.”

What was this nonsense? A leucotomy? 

ܟ

They have moved me from the hospital bed. Now I am strapped to a chair in a cool room. There are no windows. It is nice here. I recognize the nurses from their voices and their smell. One of them is the rough one with the stick. The one that electrocuted me. The one whose nose George broke. O’Brien. I chuckle a bit to myself. I like this. She grabs my head and fixates it with a strap. Another nurse begins to cut my hair. First roughly, then closer to my pate. Finally, she begins to shave it. It is a strange sensation to have a sharp knife so close to my skin. Defenceless. Did George feel this? Whatever became of Liza’s razor. Did the policemen keep it? It was an exquisite tool. And what became of her? Buried, I suppose. Paradise? The nurse is wiping my pate with something cool. It has a pungent smell. Itches. Then a sting. A needle. They inject something into my skin. I can feel a liquid swelling my skin. Then a dwindling sensation. As if the skin removes itself. I feel nothing on my head. Numbness.

“Doctor McKenzie. The patient is prepared for you.” A nurse calls to someone in another room.

I hear footsteps. A man’s movement. The smells are too many. My senses are confused. I can’t quite make him out in the myriad of scents. I try to turn my head to better hear him, but my head is completely fixed. I can’t move at all. I can sense him before me now. Leaning in over my head. Then he picks something from a metal tray next to me. I can feel him touching my head but not on my skin. Then blood. I smell it more than I sense it. My own blood. What is he doing? He yanks at something on my head. Still no real sensation. Just a pull. He puts down the object on the tray and picks up something else. Something heavy. Again this strange sensation on my head, as if something is pulling at it. That numbness. Then I hear a sound. It is everywhere. A vibration through my skull. An ear piercing shrill. Grinding. Then nothing. My blood is racing. I panic. Then the sound is back. He is drilling a hole in my skull! Then silence.

“Nurse! Clamp this.”

“Yes, doctor.”

He picks up another tool from the tray. A lighter more airy sound of metal. There is an odd sensation. I cannot put a finger on it. A feeling of numbness in my back, perhaps. Then zig-zag lightning behind my blind eyes. Odd. Someone says something but I don’t understand it. My face relaxes. My jaw drops. I can feel saliva from the corner of my mouth but I don’t care. Another muscle loosens and another. I urinate now. I can smell it. But it is okay. I am free now. Then a tear. My first tear.