Beyond Nocturne

"The Color of Blood"

EDITED BY:

Miriam Belle

CREATIVE CONSULTANT:

Simply_Cyn

Author's Note:

"This was one of the first stories I posted back in 2004. I'm currently working on the novelization of this short story, which was easily one of the more popular ones I did. Cheers!"

***

Lydia Renee stood quietly in the downpour, relaxed in the eave of a small bookstore, her eyes alive and silent, her presence unnoticed. It seemed like thousands of people walked by her, each one of them consumed by their own thoughts and passions. She could easily enough peer into their minds and read their innermost thoughts with a simple thought, but often knowing what they were thinking wasn't enough. She needed to feel the power behind those thoughts, the emotions that fueled them.

Would the fat man at the corner decide to have pork or beef for dinner? Would the woman in the gray trench coat stepping into the cab actually cheat on her husband with her boss? A young girl waiting for the bus not more than ten feet away was deeply considering suicide. The man behind her could only fix his eyes on her ass, lusting after her even as thoughts of his wife and children flashed before his eyes.

Lydia could feel them all as they passed by, their emotional states radiating off their bodies in an unseen electrical field. The hair on the back of her neck stiffened every time she came in contact with that field. It was a physical reaction to the intangible qualities of the human spirit, qualities that because of her very nature, she could somehow quantify into substance. The heat of anger burned on her skin, the coldness of despair and grief could chill her and the fires of passion affected her as if it were her very own.

She stepped out into the sea of faces and began walking, her hands held out slightly as she the electricity of their souls pass through her. Would the fat man at the corner decide to have pork or beef for dinner? Would the woman in the gray trench coat stepping into the cab actually cheat on her husband with her boss? The young girl waiting for the bus deeply considered suicide as the man behind her could only fix his eyes on her ass, lusting after her even as thoughts of his wife and children flashed before his eyes.

Lydia turned away, feeling the pressure of all these people multiplying as she opened herself up to them, trying to understand them. She had once known what it meant to be one of them, but that understanding had been lost with her humanity a long time ago. It was now only a concept that came to her in dreams, and even then so fragile that even looking at it in would cause it to evaporate from her mind as if it had never existed. She hoped to find in these humans the answers to her questions.

But thus far she had rarely seen anything but anger, hate and hypocrisy. With each man and woman that passed by, she found more and more reason to forsake that understanding of what it is to be human. Occasionally, she would touch upon a child, simple and innocent, too young to have been marked the world yet. She would relish those moments, because they were few and far between. When it did happen, it made her heart beat just a little faster. With that small change, she knew she was still alive.

But still, there were no answers for her.

At least not yet.

The rain splashed on her head and trickled down her face, the length of her neck and into the folds of her coat and shirt. A single drop made it past the neck of the white blouse shirt and rolled into the deep crevasse of her breasts. A shudder ran through her as the cool rain droplet warmed against her skin and then disappeared. She supposed that everyone, man and beast, was like a water droplet, falling, gaining speed from the infinite cradle of it's creation and then colliding with destiny. It didn't matter what happened after that because the same thing happens to every drop of rain that has ever fallen from the heavens. And when it has returned to the sky, it falls again starting the cycle anew.

It was such a cliché. Profound perhaps, but a cliché nonetheless.

Lydia swam in the crowd, and with a small groan she felt the thirst inside of her stir. It clenched her, making her both nauseous and aroused at the same time. It was so seductive in it's reasoning, trying to hide the evil of it's being by promising such pleasure and satisfaction if she would only hunt. Her hands curled into fists inside the warm pockets of her black overcoat, her mind considering the inevitable series of events that was about to unfold.

She hated the part of herself that craved like this, possessed by an insatiable need to hunt and feed. It was the dark side of her gift, or rather the telepathy she so enjoyed was a side effect of this black disease inside her. She had come to love the ability to feel other people's thoughts, and as long she never opened herself up too much to all the voices, she could amuse herself for hours listening. Sometimes, when she actually found someone who wasn't demented, crazy, hateful, sadistic or lecherous, she could almost feel normal again.

But that never lasted very long... there was always the thirst.

She passed a phone both, strangely luminescent with it's neon lighting and bright blue billboard sign that read PACBELL. In the reflection of the glass, she saw the lights of the streets, buildings and cars distort into an abstract world, a world in which she was the center of all things. Her reflection regarded her, a questioning expression on its face as she cocked her head and looked at herself. She saw her thick auburn hair was wet, hanging and dripping from her skull, her light blue eyes still eerily bright in this gray world of reflections. Her skin was milky and pure, eternally the age of twenty-five for the rest of her life and preserved like a porcelain doll. That was she felt most of the time, empty and hollow like a porcelain doll.

Her lips were full and naturally red. Though they once had seen birth to a thousand different laughs, passing so often as to create slight lines around the corners, there was no smile to be found now. Her reflection leered a hateful smile back at her anyway.

The memories of her first kill began to filter through again. She closed her eyes as the nightmare played out across her mind's eye in a brief eternal second...

Suddenly, she feels a presence in the back of her mind.

Lydia glances around as rain pelts her skin, her eyes scanning the crowd for the origin of this new feeling. She can tell that whomever she is sensing is a man, a very strong man by the radiance of heat she now feels inside. She slowly turns and seeks him out in the ever-changing sea of people. In her mind's eye, she can see his face as being broad, strong and with kind eyes. She can almost taste the blood pumping through his veins, as though she had just bitten him.

He was so close.

Her heart pounds as she searches the crowd. She walks further down the street and realizes he is within a foot or two of her. An electric sensation snaps and arcs through her body as gooseflesh breaks out across her skin. Her nipples harden involuntarily as her mind reaches out for him and touches him. Lydia licks her lips as her thirst becomes intoxicating. She knows she should not do this, that she should go and hunt elsewhere.

But he is irresistible.

His elbow grazes her arm as he briskly walks past her, head tilted down in the upturned lapels of his dark pea coat. A matching knit cap is pulled down close to his skull. The man is tall, at least six foot and has dark features, eyebrows and a goatee to match the pitch black of his clothes. Like her, he is clothed in dark garments to better blend in with the world around him. He doesn't want to be noticed.

He stops at a coffee stand.

Lydia watches him breathlessly, trying to subdue the rabid thirst building inside her chest. He has no malice in him, no anger. He is a simple heart that desires only the simple things in life. His blood is pure and untainted, a life force untouched by the essence of another woman. Lydia cannot believe that a man like this, despite his beauty, is a virgin.

The thirst is becoming unbearable as she walks over to him, observing her prey. She runs her tongue along the edges of her teeth, taking care to not cut herself on the two elongated canines that had become a part of her life a few days ago. She hates the craving inside her, the simple argument it makes to her in the hopes of being satiated for a few days.

"Hello," Lydia smiles warmly and stands beside him casually.

He turns, a little startled at her voice, and then relaxes. He is even more handsome up close, his face clear of blemishes and young. His eyes are almost as black as the night itself, showing know signs of his irises. His neck is thick, and beneath his pale skin she can see traces of the blue veins carrying his blood.

"Hi," he replies, smiling courteously. His gaze lingers for a moment, uncertain and suddenly suspicious.

"What kind of coffee you drink?" she asks, sensing a fear inside him, a fear of her. Does he know what she is? Can he sense the unrelenting thirst that was consuming her?

"Just good old black coffee," he says amiably and hands the vendor a five-dollar bill. The vendor makes the change and gives it back.

"You got a name?" Lydia asks bluntly.

The man eyes her for a second and then says, "Steve."

Lydia knows he is telling the truth.

"My name is Lydia," she says as she pulls her umbrella out from under her long, black coat. "Care to share?"

Steve looks at her hair. "It must not be a very good umbrella, you're soaked."

"Sometimes I just like to play in the rain."

Steve smiles, and she feels some of the fear go away.

"I'd like that," he says finally.

Lydia pops the umbrella open and they walk together. She lets herself slip slowly into his mind and begin soothing him, preparing him for the moment. She isn't even aware she is doing it at first. There is no resistance to her intrusion, if he even was aware of it. She begin to stimulate him with vivid images of sex. She slipped images of herself naked into his mind, her soft skin backlit by some ethereal light causing it glow. In these fleeting visions, her full breasts were hanging freely in the almost tangible light, her nipples erect and begging for his touch. To her surprise, she was enjoying the imagery almost as much as he was.

'Don't do this,' a small voice called from the back of her mind dismally, 'you know this is wrong. Don't do this...'

"What do you do?" she asked as she tried to justify what she was about to do.

"Huh?" Steve stammered, almost dropping his coffee.

"I asked what do you do?"

"I'm an architect," he said and tried to not stare at her. Steve cleared his throat and as he walked, he clearly tried to re-adjust himself.

"That's great," she smiled. Lydia had made it a point, ever since she had first been turned, never to hunt the innocent. It had been the only she could accept what she had to do in order to survive. It was the only way she could go to sleep and not feel like committing suicide over what she was. Lydia knew it was a shitty deal all the around, this business of murdering to stay alive. But she could not fight off the inevitability of what the thirst would make her do any more than she could stop breathing air.

Her stomach clenched violently and she almost doubled over as the thirst demanded attention. Lydia was running out of time and her desperation to know this man better and taste him broke down the logic that kept her from killing the innocent. Her mind screamed to stop, begged her not to commit to this act, but she was falling to temptation. When the sun set tomorrow night, when she awoke from her sleep, she knew that she would regret her impulsive and selfish decisions tonight.

With a simple thought that she could hardly believe she was thinking, she caused the essence of his sexuality to flood through his body, enriching his blood. If she had wanted, she could have made him orgasm right there. She knew it would only take the right amount of stimulation. The mind is a powerful device, the translation of what is real and what is not. Steve trusted his own thoughts like everyone else did, but he could not know that he was beginning to trust Lydia in the same way.

"You look so familiar to me," he cleared his throat, a blush rising to his cheeks. Lydia began creating memories of them together, as though she had been his lover for years. She twisted his past to include her, to include the passion that she so desperately wanted for herself but could never have. And as she instinctively manipulated the fabric of his being, she found that she could barely hear that small voice of protest. It was an echo now, lost in the rage of her vampiric thirst.

"Well, I should Steve," she said innocently and then added, "We've only been dating for six years."

He looked confused for a moment, and Lydia thought maybe she had underestimated him. She could feel him thinking about what she had just said, part of him knowing it wasn't true and yet unable to deny the new memories she had implanted into him. As they walked, she could see him processing the information and digesting it, coming to terms with it and finally accepting it. Finally, he looked over at her and smiled sheepishly. "What a stupid question."

"No kidding," Lydia breathed as they continued walking. The lights from the surrounding buildings were reflecting off the deep puddles of rainwater as the gutters started to overflow from the torrential downpour. Lydia saw her distorted reflection in the water briefly and then looked away. She could not bear to see the monster within.

They walked several blocks out of the downtown area to one of the residential neighborhoods. Fat drops of water formed and plummeted from the leaves and branches of the large oak trees that lined the street. The street lamps buzzed and hummed to life, slowly casting warm sodium light into the streets as the day died and night returned. He lived in a complex that probably boasted ten or twelve upscale town houses and stood out like pale white ghosts against the shadows surrounding them.

As they walked up the path to his front door, Lydia holding his hand gently in her own, Michael rambled on about his day. She knew that she had no right to be listening to him, no right to share in his life as though she were a welcomed part of it. What she was doing was wrong all the way around, and there was a part of heart that knew that. Perhaps that's why the thirst gagged and hid that part of her, shoving it away with reckless hate and need. The thirst needed no conscience to feed and made sure that Lydia was sufficiently dulled, at least until the deed was done and it was satisfied.

I'm weak, she smiled at Steve as they reached the door to his home. Her mouth felt dry and felt like someone had stuffed cotton in her cheeks. She thought, I'm sorry Steve.

Lydia opened her coat as they stood under the eave of the front porch to reveal her leather vest and pants. She wore a white, billowy shirt that had been made in a different time, a keepsake from her childhood. The fabric was sleek and silky, almost as silky as her pale skin. Her breasts were pushed together and very generously revealed by the open v-neck of the tunic and vest she wore. Steve only could stare as they walked inside.

Lydia stretched out with her mind, and held her grip on him. Her prey looked to her with hungry eyes and smiled as he pulled his keys out of his jacket. Steve fumbled with the keys for a moment, his hands trembling until finally he found the right key and unlocked the door. He stepped inside and turned when Lydia stood where she was on the front porch.

"You coming in?" he asked, believing now that she was in fact his beloved girlfriend of six years so whole heartedly that she could feel a pang of rejection from him when she wouldn't come in.

"Well since you seemed to have forgotten who I am," she said slyly, all the while hating herself more and more with each passing second, "You'll just have to invite me in."

"Please come in," he said immediately and held his hand out to her.

Lydia smiled warmly and took his hand as she walked in. Steve closed the door and they were in the dark, the only light in the hall a hot orange glow from the neon sign across the street flooding in the series of windows that framed the left side of the door. The rain was driving hard in a sudden wind as it spattered against the windowpanes. She didn't look at his furnishings or décor and she stopped him in the small hallway that led to the living room. The less she knew about him, the easier it would be.

Lydia placed her hands on either side of his face, her fingers spread out as her palms grazed the prickly stubble on his cheeks. His blood was racing through his body, fueled by an unnatural attraction to her that she had forced on him. His breath was hot against his lips as she drew his face near to her own, her hands steady against his skin but unable to stop the impulses surging through her body.

Lydia kissed him gently on the lips in a slow roll of her tongue, deliberately taking her time as he placed his hands on her hips.

It's wrong, she thought weakly as her body suddenly heated up, a blush rising from deep inside her long-frozen heart.

The feeling was so alien, so inherently mysterious that she almost drew back from him. She had not been ready to feel the emotions that she now sadly remembered went hand in hand with seduction. She had been killing predators for so long now that she had forgotten about sex, let alone the wonderfully simple sensations such as the brush of a man's lips against her own. Hundreds of years hunting the refuse of society had left her lobotomized on the subject of affection and tenderness. Never once had she had to lure a criminal, rapist or molester to her through the means she had utilized tonight.

But who was the predator now? Lydia fought off that thought as she allowed herself to experience the feelings of a first kiss again. Again, she was convicted by her morality and she recoiled from the guilt over her actions. But the thirst knew no master, not for her or anyone else like her.

She took off his hat and removed his jacket. She could feel his sculpted body under the dress shirt he wore, and the bulge in his slacks against her thigh. Steve responded quickly as he began undoing her vest, tugging at her shirt, finally able to act out on the images that had been storming his mind for the last half hour. His need for her was ravenous as they kissed, undoing each other's clothes. Lydia felt herself enjoying him and the sexual sensations sparked throughout her body. She felt the thirst beginning to overtake her.

Not yet, she thought, not yet...

Lydia let her shirt fall away and down her arms. She looked at Steve and reached behind her back, her fingers seeking out the hooks of her lacy white bra. She deftly unclasped the hooks and slid her bra off. Her heart was hammering in her chest relentlessly as she revealed herself to this stranger. You don't have to do this, she reasoned as a shiver electrified her flesh, you don't have to do all this. Just feed and go. Don't violate him like this. Please.

Lydia dropped the garment to the floor and watched as Steve looked her over, drinking in the curves of her heavy breasts. She surprised herself as a genuine moan escaped from her throat as he placed his large, rough hands on her swells and cupped her. She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing as she tried to reason, to put some sort of logic to why she was doing this. But all she could do was tentatively explore the feelings this man had awakened in her. Her inner sex was alive again, her womanhood slowly waking up and heating her soul again.