Red Awaening

"Yo, Zoey, you up for drinks tonight? I'm gonna be heading over to the Corner with Bill and his brother later on."

"His brother," I blank. "The weird one, with the trenchcoat?"

"Yeah, him. Might have a couple other people from work there, too." Nina smiles at me, showing off her new dental braces, a glint of hope in her dark eyes. I know she doesn't want to go without me, but... shit.

"Sorry, Ni, I don't think I'm gonna be able to make it. I still have a couple papers left I need to write and they're taking forever."

"For the CRNA position? Fuck, Zo, that's gonna be

so

much work."

"I know, but... y'know. I gotta get started if I want a decent position, it takes so long just for a spot to open up anyway." I let out a sigh, squeezing my eyes shut for a second. They burn from being exposed to the harsh clinical lights of the hospital all day, not to mention the day before, and the day before, and the day before that. A night on the town does sound like the kind of break I could seriously use.

"Come on, Zo. I don't think one night out will kill you," she frowns, touching one hand lightly to my shoulder, one that I gently overlap with my own. "I can see the bags under your eyes. How good do you think your paper will end up if you never rest?"

I nod, slowly at first, looking at Nina. She hasn't been burning the candle at both ends like I have, and it shows -- her jet-black hair is still as lustrous as ever, her eyes filled with life, light brown skin still showing the healthy glow appropriate for her age. Maybe she's got it right. If we can manage to have the same job with drastically different work outputs, maybe I

am

working too hard. And she's got a point... one night won't kill me.

I inhale deeply, and relent. "Alright, fine, just a few drinks, okay? And you're paying for my cab home!"

"Deal!" she grins widely, "I'll call the others and tell 'em you're coming, they're gonna be so excited!"

"Pshh, yeah right," I chuckle as she pulls out her phone. The papers can wait. I deserve a break.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Fear.

The fear of the hunted, the fear of prey. I run until my legs burn, until I am deafened by the throb of my own heartbeat. I am the rabbit to the fox, the deer to the wolf, the worm to the bird. I am nothing. I am alone. I am afraid.

"Fuck, haha, I'm so drunk. I knew I shouldn't have let you talk me into coming out tonight...."

Pain.

I scream out into the darkness. Agony unlike any I've ever known explodes through my body, like I'm being ripped apart by it. The sharpness, hardness, piercing into me. Unholiness rushing through my veins, destroying me, rebuilding me.

"Don't worry, I'm doing alright. I'll give you a ride back to your apartment."

Red.

It gushes around me, from me, drained from me. Vision blurs and colors vanish. I drown in the all-consuming darkness of night, no moon to look down on me, no sun to be my savior. Nothing but the dark... and the red. The rage, the pain, ribbons of scarlet billowing free of me, bathing me. The rage, the pain, the red.

"What are you doing? I don't... I think I should go, please just... just pull over here, I can walk the rest of the way...."

Darkness.

No more pain, no more fear. The red drained from me, leaving only pale skin, empty veins. Eyes twitch and flutter and all there is is numbness. Numbness, and darkness. A helpless certainty that I cannot be saved.

"Stop, get away from me! What do you think you're-- oh fuck... oh fuck, what are you...?"

Death.

Finally everything goes still. Numbness fades to emptiness and darkness fades to white. With my blood goes my body, with my body goes my soul. I can't feel myself anymore. I can't move. I can't think, can't feel. There is nothing left of me.

"Hold still... this can all be over so soon if you let it...."

Red.

My eyes snap open. Every nerve screams with pain -- pain, and everything else. Pleasure, hunger, desire, every wicked and visceral thing, claiming my every thought, burying my mind in sensations. I'm awake. I may be nothing else, but I'm awake, and I'm aware. I'm alive.

I'm alive.

My muscles shriek with pain as I sit up, thoughts starting to return to me in fragments. The fragments, though, are quickly fading, replaced by distorted mirrors, a funhouse nightmare of my own personal history. The further back I try to remember, the more indistinct -- memories of my parents are cracked and indistinct, their names lost to me, like my brain has been deep-fried.

I shift sideways and bump into cold metal, though the floor beneath me creaks and squishes beneath my light weight. I push at either side, arms flailing out blindly, finding metal on all sides of me. I try to stand, hitting my head -- this time not against steel, but something softer. Plastic? It shifts when I hit it, like... a lid, or seal. I push up with both arms, and feel the canopy above me fly up and away. Instantly, my eyes are burned by the dim twinkle of starlight, though I adjust after a few moments. There's a brick wall opposite and behind me, and I....

I crawl over the metal rim of the container I'm in, toppling to the concrete with a heavy thud. The smell of piss and stale liquor stings my nostrils, but my eyes are already adjusting to the dark -- far faster than they normally should. In moments, even the dim glow of the stars is like daylight to me, my senses sharpening, adapting to the dark, like a hunting cat. I'm in an alleyway... I

had

been in a dumpster.

The world swims around me as I pull myself to my feet, staggering sidelong into the wall, closing my eyes. There's this... thrumming in my head, this pounding, as I try to regain my faculties. What happened last night? What... happened to me?

I stand there for a long moment, slumped against the red brick, before I finally feel able to move around. I reach into my pocket for my phone, only to find the screen completely shattered. The fabric of my jeans is also torn in the same area, like I fell, or was dragged... maybe both. I stagger out of the alley, only to be blinded once again -- this time not by starlight, but by the city. Streetlamps above, headlights zipping past from both directions, it feels like someone set off a firework in front of my face, pain and burning causing me to retreat back into the alley I'd come from. I need to get back to my apartment, need time to rest, relax, figure this out.

One hand shielding my eyes, I take off out from the alley's other side, and find this area to be a bit darker, not next to the highway. I wander for a few steps, searching for a street sign, finally finding one. 107th -- I'm on the east side, I think, not terribly far from home.

"Yo, you doin' alright?" I'm jarred from introspection by a voice from behind me, one accompanied by a thrumming, pulsing sound, like the sound of blood rushing through a thousand veins at once. I turn, squinting, to see a tall, sallow guy wearing a blue beanie, the early makings of a beard doing their best to sprout on his thin face. "Oh, shit," he says, eyes widening when I turn to face him. He backs up a step out of what appears to be pure reflex. "Do you, uh... need me to call someone, or...?"

"I... I'm not..." I try to say, but my mouth feels... full, something getting in the way when I try to speak. I think he says something else, but the sound is drowning him out. That rushing sound, louder and louder, like white rapids on a raging river. "I don't..." I feel my teeth clack together when I try to speak, like they've grown too long. Through the myriad of swelling sensations in my body, one becomes stronger than the others. More insistent. One I can't ignore.

Hunger.

"Hey, miss, I'm gonna call 911, alright? I'm gonna try to get you some hel--"

He doesn't get another word out. Instinct takes over, controls me, and I pounce like a feral cat. I open my mouth and latch onto him, fangs driving into his throat. There's a hot splash of blood and then the rush of salt filling my mouth. Hot, crimson life. And it's the best thing I've ever tasted.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

An hour later, I find myself in my apartment, sitting in the shower, arms clutching tight around my knees as the water pours down around me. I watch as it cascades down my pale form into the bottom of the tub, a very different color than it had been before it had touched me. Every inch of me is caked with that man's blood, but for the first time since awakening I can think clearly. Many memories are still lost to me -- a few fleeting names and faces. Information and skills seem to remain, and I find myself able to recall my practice as a registered nurse and the capabilities that demands. It's my own history, the

person

I was, that seems to float away from me, like driftwood on a sea of red.

I'm not an idiot. I understand what's happened to me, even if I don't want to admit it to myself. I know what I am, what I've become.

I'm a vampire. What rules I follow I don't know -- from the way my body was dumped, I'm not sure the person who turned me knows they've done so. Fuck, I don't know what happened to that man I drained on the street. All I know is that this explains everything: my aversion to light, my hunger for blood, the icy, undirected passion that pulses inside me. The lack of heartbeat or warmth. Suddenly, becoming a CRNA seems like the least of my concerns, but I find concern itself also melting away. As I lose memories of the people I love, the people I'm meant to care about, a sense of deep loneliness overcomes me, a sense of loneliness accompanied by a bitter disregard for those that don't share my affliction. For the first time since birth, I am truly alone.

Questions rush through my head. What do I do, where do I go from here? I can safely assume there's no cure, and... the more I dwell on the topic, the more I feel myself rejecting it, like my own body doesn't want it. Like it

wants

to be the way it is. There's this deep, predatory buzz humming through my body, this sensation of... superiority. An instinct that my dynamic with the world has changed, that the things that mattered no longer do.

I finally get out of the shower, drying myself off, and taking a moment to look at myself in the mirror, now that all the blood's been washed away. I'm different, visibly so, noticeably so. My crimson red hair (dyed, but I still like it) is untouched by the transformation, but the rest of me very much is. Light skin has faded to ghostly pale, dark circles under my eyes have grown even darker -- standing out against my deathly milkiness and the piercing royal blue of my eyes. They almost glow in the dim, flickering light of my bathroom. A hunter's eyes.

My body has changed as well, though less obviously. Natural blemishes and flaws seem to have disappeared, replaced by more creamy paleness, though no matter how transparent I become my veins are invisible against even the closest inspection. My breasts have lifted slightly, nipples permanently stiffened, my penis a little more handsome, even inert -- softer, smoother.

It's this myriad of emotions I have the most difficulty grappling. Part of me is who I was, regretful of what I've become, wondering what I've lost, determined to regain what existed of my life. Another part is overwhelmed by the red, by this sensation of being the dominant predator in a world I've struggled to be a part of. That part wants to feed, to fuck, to be astounding and terrifying. That part is a beast, with unknown abilities and unquenchable thirst for blood. And, hour by hour as I contemplate who I am and who I've become, she's taking over.

I close the curtains over the windows when dawn finally breaks. Exhaustion overcomes me, but a sort of contented weariness, the kind you get after a hard workout or mind-blowing sex, where the ache in your muscles is a trophy rather than a punishment. Tonight I fed for the first time, and tonight, I'm full... but without a community to attach myself to, I find myself wondering where my next meal will come from. I was lucky enough not to be caught when my instincts overcame my sense of self-preservation, I may not be so lucky again. I need to be smart, need to blend in with a world no longer mine, if I'm going to find a dependable source of human blood.

Fortunately, I'm a nurse.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Monday, Grand Meadow Medical Center

It took significant work to go through my effects, my identification, my schedule. To recreate the puzzle of my life from insignificant scraps. To my delight, I was already working the night shift, so it took little effort to avoid the final dappling sunrays of dusk on my way to the hospital. Certain things come from muscle memory, or sudden pangs of remembrance -- take this turn here, sign in here, wave to the right people. Their faces are blurry to me, but the thrum of their blood in their veins is like a stampede of great red hooves against my enhanced senses. Against all odds, though, I begin to go about my initial chores, certain things returning to my memory, despite their tedium. It will all, eventually, be worth it... I need to blend in if I'm going to be the hunter I was reborn to be, and this place has all the free (if not always fresh) blood than I can drink.

"Zoey?"

Fuck.

I slowly turn, greeted by a friendly face emerging from the hallway to my left. At first, I don't recognize her -- dark skin and hair, beautiful dark eyes, braces in her bright smile. A lovely stranger. It's her voice that jars something in my thoughts; not who she is, merely that I should know her. Clearly, she knows me. "Oh, heyyy," I retort, smiling without showing teeth. I don't have as much control over my fangs as I'd like to, and I'd rather not be exposed so quickly.

"You get home the other night? You got a ride with, uh..." she pauses, thinking. "Bill's brother, right? He didn't try to pull anything, did he?"

Bill's brother. Not much, but a lead. A hint as to who turned me, and where more like me might be. Despite doing my best to come to grips with undeath, I'm in desperate need of some kind of guidance, some kind of grounding. "Oh, no, he was a perfect gentleman," I bluff. "I think I lost his number, though. Do you think you can text it to me later?"

"Oh, yeah, well I can ask Bill if he's got it," she smiles back. I still don't remember her name. I steal a quick glance at her nametag -- Nina. A spark of memory, but nothing concrete.

"Awesome, thanks so much, Nina!"

"Nina?" she chuckles quizzically, tilting her head sidelong.

Fuck. "You know, like..." I point to her nametag, then put on a silly voice, hoping feigned sarcasm will get me out of an apparent faux pas. "NinaAaAaa. Crazy."

"Pff, yeah, sure, hah," she lets out a soft giggle. "By the way, are you feelin' alright? I know you were quiet yesterday and I figured you were just hungover or whatever, but you're like, way pale."

"Oh, yeah, it's..." my mind races for an answer. I find one comes quickly to me where it ordinarily would not have -- like lies are natural to me, now. "I was watching some makeup tutorials before I came in and tried something new. Too much?"

"I mean, if you're into the like, goth, vampire thing it's pretty hot, just don't be surprised when the Dean tries to jump your bones," she chuckles again, a soft, sweet sound. "Alright, I gotta grab a file and get back. I'm glad you decided to come out with us the other night!"

I watch her as she gets what she came for and makes her way back the way she came. My fake smile fades to a neutral expression, then one of hunger. She smells so... rich. "Yeah," I whisper under my breath. "So am I."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Actually working is a serious trial -- I remember many of my skills, but not always how to apply them, the day-to-day routines that had become familiar over time. Like the same mind dropped into a new life, the information remains but not its... context. Worse are the people, the ones that claim to know me or be interested, the 'hey Zoey!'s that I have to keep bluffing my way through. I do notice, though, that convincing people of things they appear to know aren't true is... strangely easy, like my words carry more weight than they should. That my lies have potency, and their mortal minds need to struggle to resist them. It fits with my hypothesis of vampirism; the question is how I harness it more directly. How I

use

it.

"Hey, Zoey!"

I freeze on my way to find a fresh bedpan for a patient, rolling my eyes before turning, trying to hide my disgust with a bright expression. Behind me is a man, tall, perhaps in his late thirties, though flecks of white have already begun to infest his short-cropped blond hair. A scruff of beard fails to fill out a lean face and square jaw. His nametag says Dr. Ericssen -- hope I'm not supposed to know him on a first-name basis.

"Heyyyy," I shoot back.

"Whoa, new look?" he laughs.

"I'm just, ah... trying it out," I chuckle innocently. "What's up?"

"Just wondering if you could do me a quick favor," he says, and I hear his heartrate elevate, his blood rushing a little faster through his veins. He's about to ask for something he shouldn't. "I'm way behind on a couple things, and clinic duty's kinda... holding me back, yeah? There's a girl in there now, think she just wants drugs or some shit, you remember how to sign my name, right?"

Sign his name? Have I done this before? This doesn't seem like the girl Zoey was -- who I am -- maybe he's kidding? No, his blood can't lie to me. He's serious. "Of course, yeah, totally," I shoot back, "where is she?"

"138," he nods, "thanks Zo. You almost done with that paper yet?"

Paper? Fuck. "Ah, almost, Nina roped me into some trouble the other night."

"Well, you know the drill. I'll make sure it, ah... sees the right people," he smiles and throws me a fake wink, then pushes past me. Interesting. This

does

seem like Zoey, willing to do something untoward not for a profit, but for her career. Who am I to break tradition?

I make my way towards the room Ericssen indicated and slip inside, putting on a friendly expression and getting a quick look at the 'patient' in question, sitting on the edge of the bed -- she's tall, slim, leggy, her lank, electric-blue hair not quite reaching down to her shoulders. The dark makeup around her eyes rivals my own new, vampiric look, and various metal piercings litter her face: lip, brow, nose, labret, and all along both ears. Torn jeans, unlaced boots, and a wine-colored Dresden Dolls tank top round out the look that I'm sure Ericssen was referring to when he said she probably came here for drugs, though I'm not one to judge. "Hello there," I say gently, letting the door click close behind me... and locking it.

"Fuck, doc shuffled me off to a nurse? So much for an impartial health care system," she sneers, her voice carrying a very slight british accent, like she moved to the States at a young age but both parents were from Liverpool.

"I'm just doing a quick check-up to make sure nothing more serious is required," I feint, grabbing her file from the counter and taking a quick glance over it. "Annie Shaw, 22. So it says you're suffering from back pain and... glaucoma."

"And headaches."

"Those are some very unfortunate issues for a 22-year-old," I shoot her a dark smirk. "I think Dr. Ericssen might have overestimated you. You're not angling for any hardcore prescription painkillers -- you want weed."

"Oy, I've got some serious symptoms here, I need to be taken seriou--"

"Please, Ms. Shaw. Your heart rate told me you were lying before you ever opened your mouth." My grin widens, and my fangs extend, blue eyes beginning to shimmer.

"My heart...? What the fuck are-- ohhhh..." her eyes glaze over as I impress my will onto her, reaching out to grasp her mind, her soul, and to make it my possession. Ericssen's given me the perfect hunting ground, a perfect alibi, a place he'll never tell anyone I went. I need to feed... and for the first time since that random guy on the street, I'm finally going to. "I... y-you're so...."