Untitled Taxi Driver Story
Jake eased the cab over to the curb, careful to avoid splashing the well-dressed, heavyset fare waiting on the corner. The rain had already drenched the man, which meant Jake’s tip would be small. Splashing him would make it smaller.
“Where to?” Jake asked once the man was inside.
“Columbia and fourteenth,” the man replied.
“Sure,” Jake said and pulled away from the curb. The man began to fiddle with his cell phone.
“Damn thing!” the man muttered.
“What’s the trouble?” Jake asked, looking into the rear-view.
“Oh, this piece of shit’s locked up again,” the man said. “Fourth time today.”
“You’ve probably corrupted your system settings. Try re-setting the BIOS. Is that a Motorola?” Jake said.
“Yes,” the man replied.
“Bring up the main menu, then press star, seven, five, two. When it asks if you’re sure, say yes, then wait for it to reboot,” Jake said.
The man quiet for moment, then Jake heard the familiar beeps as the man pressed the phone’s buttons.
“Main menu, star, seven, five, two… yes. Okay it’s rebooting,” the man said.
“That should fix it,” Jake said.
“Where’d you pick that up?” the man asked.
“Pick what up?” Jake asked.
“This. This star-seven-five-two stuff. That’s not in the manual,” the man said.
“Oh that,” Jake laughed, “I used to write software for phones like yours.”
“Really?” the man asked.
“Yep,” Jake said.
“What happened?” the man asked.
“You mean how’d I end up driving a taxi?” Jake asked.
“Well I,” the man began.
“It’s okay, really,” Jake said. “I know you don’t mean anything by it. It’s pretty simple really; the bubble burst and took my company with it. But I still had bills to pay.”
“I see,” the man said.
They rode in silence for the next few minutes until Jake pulled up to the man’s stop.
“That’ll be nine fifty,” Jake said.
The man handed him a twenty.
“Keep the change,” the man said. “But one question…”
“Shoot,” Jake said.
“Why didn’t you ever,” the man began.
“Get another tech job?” Jake interrupted.
“Yes,” the man said.
“Honestly?” Jake asked.
“Yes,” the man replied.
“To be honest, the thought of returning to cube-life doesn’t really appeal to me,” Jake said. “You know, I remember going weeks without talking to another living sole. Weeks holed up in my cube writing code. Weeks I’ll never get back. You know what I mean?”
The man sighed. “Point taken,” he said, “but if you ever change your mind here’s my card.”
Jake took the card.
“We could use you,” the man said.
“Thanks,” Jake said, “I’ll think about it.”
“You do that. Have a good night,” the man said.
With that, the man got out. Once he was out of sight Jake slipped the card into his shirt pocket.
“We could use you,” Jake repeated to himself, then laughed at the man’s unintentional honesty as he drove away from the curb.
#
The rain broke a few hours later, leaving behind a damp, thick, fog that transformed the streetlights into fuzzy, glowing dots. Jake wound his way through the narrow streets of a posh residential section, arriving at the address dispatch had given him. Seeing no one outside, he pulled alongside the brick town home and tapped his horn.
The back door of his cab opened and closed.
“Eleventh and Washington,” a female voice said.
“Hey sorry I didn’t see you, I guess the fog’s pretty thick,” Jake said as he glanced at his passenger in the rear-view mirror.
Though the shadows hid her face, the cocktail dress she wore had a long slit that ran almost to her waist, giving Jake a nice view of her legs.
“Is there a problem?” she asked.
Jake felt his face redden. “No ma’am,” he replied and pulled away from the curb.
Despite his shame, Jake’s eyes kept wandering back to the rear-view as he drove. He tried to concentrate on the road, reminding himself that the fog was dangerous enough with two eyes on the road, but still, one more quick glance at those legs wouldn’t do any harm…
“Must be hard,” the woman said.
“What’s that?” Jake replied, eyes back on the road.
“The fog. It must be hard to drive in this sort of weather,” she said.
“Oh sure–I mean, no–it’s no problem.” Jake said.
“You must be quite the driver,” she said.
“It’s what they pay me for,” Jake said.
“Indeed. Tell me Jake, what do you want?” the woman asked.
“Beg your pardon?” he asked.
“What do you want Jake?” she asked.
“Well I… I don’t know what you mean,” he said.
“Really? That’s too bad Jake. Maybe next time,” the woman said.
“Maybe what next time?” Jake asked.
“Too late now Jake, we’re here,” she said.
“What?” he said.
“This is my stop,” she said.
Sure enough, they were approaching Eleventh and Washington. Jake pulled up to the curb.
“That’ll be,” he said, checking the meter. Shit! He’d been so busy thinking about her legs that he’d forgotten to turn on the meter. “That’ll be on the house,” he said laughing. Jake turned and found the back seat empty. He checked the mirrors for any sign of her, but the fog made seeing more than a few feet beyond the car impossible.
#
Later that night, Jake dreamed.
He was in his cab, parked in a dark alley. The woman, the fare with the nice legs, was in the back seat. Shadows hid her face, but the lone streetlight illuminated her perfect legs. Jake smiled at her in the rear view, and she laughed, beckoning him to join her in the back.
Jake squirmed around in his seat and climbed over the armrest. The leather felt sticky under his palms. He bent to take a closer look and the woman laughed again, diverting his attention. Jake watched as she slowly uncrossed her legs. There, along the milky white flesh of her thighs, two rows of pointed yellow teeth protruded through blood-red gums that ran from just above her knees to the shadow of her sex.
Undaunted, he leaned in to kiss her, but just as he was about to see her face, her tooth-laden thighs clamped shut around him, jolting him awake.
#
For the next week, the dream haunted him. Jake was lucky if he managed three hours of sleep a night, and he always woke up the same way: ice cold, covered in sweat, and with a throbbing erection.
#
It was close to quitting time when the call came in for an uptown pickup, but Jake recognized the address.
He hit the horn twice when he got to the brick townhouse. Without the fog, Jake could see the house had degraded into a crumbling eyesore in the upscale neighborhood. The faded, chipped paint on the door complimented the broken, boarded windows and rotted sills. The house looked older than the city itself.
The cab’s backdoor opened and closed.
“The Marriott on 20th please,” a woman’s voice said.
Jake’s eyes snapped to the rear-view. Once again, he couldn’t see her face, but he knew those legs anywhere. This time she wore a pleated black skirt that ended just above the knee. The angle at which she was sitting caused it to fall back several inches, exposing the creamy skin of her thighs. Jake remembered the teeth in his dream and focused on the road.
“Yes ma’am,” he said.
They drove a few minutes before Jake spoke again.
“I think I had you a few nights ago,” he said.
“You had me?” the woman said.
“In my cab,” Jake said, “I mean, you were a fare a few nights ago. I think.”
“Oh I know what you meant Jake, I remember,” she said.
Jake smiled.
“So Jake,” she said. “Have you been thinking about what I said?”
“What do you mean?” Jake asked.
“You know what I mean Jake,” she said.
“No really, I don’t,” Jake said.
“Turn here,” she said.
Jake turned into a dark alley, inching the cab down the narrow passage for a minute or two before he met a solid wall.
“Dead end,” he said and shifted to reverse. Instinctively, he reached over to the passenger’s seat to brace himself as he craned his neck around, and in doing so, saw her for first time without the rear-view. The alley was dark but looking directly at her he could make out long, dark hair that tumbled over her shoulders.
Jake could see she was smiling.
“Put it in park Jake,” she said.
Without taking his eyes off her, he put the cab in park and killed the ignition.
“Now get back here,” she said, curing her index finger to beckon him.
A sense of deja vu enveloped him as he unhooked his seatbelt and squirmed around in his seat. As he climbed over the armrest, the woman uncrossed her legs. Fortunately, instead of teeth, there was only more pale white skin.
He’d gotten one leg into the back when he felt her hands on his belt, undoing the clasp.
#
Jake woke up alone in the back seat of his cab with a bitter taste of copper in his mouth. Sunlight streamed in through the cab’s windows. His head throbbed. He felt around for a bump or bruise, but found none. Grunting as he did so, Jake sat up.
His head swam with the effort. He lay back in the seat and closed his eyes.
Some time later Jake woke up again. His head was a little less cloudy and the copper taste in his mouth had receded, replaced with an arid dryness. He opened the back door and climbed out onto the street, closing the door behind him. Jake shut his eyes to the blinding sun reflecting off the windows and chrome and felt for the driver’s door.
Locked.
He realized that he’d left the keys in the ignition.
“Fuck!” Jake cursed. The thought of climbing over the seat again in his present condition didn’t appeal to him.
Jake squinted down the alley to the street. He could see a 7-11 across the road. After a quick look to make sure the alley was deserted, Jake began walking toward the convenience store. A hot cup of coffee would help clear his head.
#
Except for the man behind the counter, the store was deserted. The clock on the wall told Jake it was a little after seven in the morning.
“Coffee please. Black,” Jake said.
“Sure… sure thing,” said the man behind the counter. He stumbled to the coffee machine without taking his eyes off Jake.
“Are you okay?” Jake asked.
“Seriously?” the man replied.
“Yeah, I mean, are you in some kind of trouble or something?” Jake asked.
“I—I was going to ask the same thing about you,” the man said.
“What do you mean?” Jake asked.
“Well, look at you,” the man said.
“What?” Jake asked.
The man’s only reply was to point. Jake followed the invisible line from man’s outstretched finger to his own midsection. Then he saw what was making the man behind the counter so uncomfortable.
The lower portion of his shirt and most of his pants were covered with what appeared to be very large, and very fresh, bloodstains.
“Holy shit!” Jake said. His eyes darted between himself and the man behind the counter as his brain tried to process the copious amount of blood covering his midsection. “Do you have a bathroom?” he asked.
“What?” the man asked.
“A bathroom?” Jake repeated, his voice rising.
“Yeah in back. Why?” the man asked.
Jake didn’t answer as he ran to the back of the store and into the tiny restroom. Once inside, he closed and locked the door. The room was hot and the air was stale.
A disheveled and unshaven reflection greeted him in the mirror above the sink. He could make out little flecks of dried blood on his face and in his hair.
Jake turned on the water and splashed some on his face. The coolness felt good and helped steady his nerves. He dried his face with a paper towel, then took a deep breath and peeled off his shirt.
It was damp and sticky and the bloody splotches had a stiffness to them that reminded Jake of paint stains. With his shirt off, Jake inspected his torso for any kind of wound. He found none. His chest and what he could see of his back in the mirror were devoid of any cuts, scrapes or, more importantly, blood.
Relieved, Jake unbuttoned his pants. His white boxers were now a deep red. He pushed them down, wincing as he ripped out several clumps of pubic and leg hair that had melded with the congealed blood.
He exhaled deeply when saw that his penis, despite being coated in semi-dried blood, was still there.
Somewhat relieved, Jake took a paper towel, wet it in the sink, and began to clean himself.
Ten minutes, and an entire stack of paper towels later, Jake still wasn’t done cleaning up, but he was feeling much better. He’d meticulously checked for any kind of cut, and found none. Unless he’d bled out of his ass–a thought that, for some reason, disturbed him even more than bleeding out of his cock—the blood wasn’t his.
With the last paper towel gone, Jake pulled up his pants and immediately regretted it. The crotch of his blood soaked boxers was a damp, sticky mess. Jake forced himself to ignore it, and put on his shirt. Giving himself one last look in the mirror –the bloodstains on his shirt already seemed dry—he opened the restroom door and walked back into the convenience store.
“Yes he’s still in there! How much longer are you going to be?” the man behind the counter said into a cordless phone.
“No I don’t know where he got the,” the man turned and saw Jake. “I-I’ll call you back.”
Jake walked straight to the door and out into the bright city street, quickly making his way back to his cab in the blazing sun. He opened the back door expecting to find some bloodstains, but the cab was clean. Relieved but confused, he climbed over the armrest into the driver’s seat. He looked down at the radio, which was off. Jake flipped it on.
“Dispatch, this is 54,” Jake said.
“Christ Jake, where have you been!” the speaker crackled. Jake winced.
“I’m sorry Mr. Barker sir, I don’t know what happened,” Jake replied.
“Save it,” Barker replied. “Are you okay?”
“Yes sir,” Jake said.
“Then get your ass back here!” Barker said.
“Yes sir. On my way,” Jake said. He started the cab, put it in reverse, and inched out of the alley. Once he was back on the road, Jake headed for his apartment.
#
“And that’s about all I can tell you. I woke up and called in right away,” Jake said. He was standing in Barker’s office, wearing the clothes he’d changed into at his apartment.
“So let me get this straight. Your last fare never showed and you fell asleep waiting? That’s your story?” Barker asked.
“Yeah,” Jake said.
“You fall asleep on the job often?” Barker asked.
“No,” Jake answered.
“What happened to the radio?” Barker asked, pacing around Jake. “We were trying to raise you all night. Christ, we called the fucking cops!”
Jake winced. “I guess I must have switched it off, you know, like an alarm clock,” he said.
“Like an alarm clock?” Barker repeated.
“Yeah, you see, I haven’t been sleeping well the past few days and I guess I just crashed. It won’t happen again,” Jake said.
“Damn right it won’t,” Barker said. He glared at Jake for what seemed like hours.
Then, Barker’s expression softened. “Listen kid,” he said in a smoother tone, “I like you, but if I thought for a second this had anything to do with drugs you’d be out on your ass. Get me?”
Jake nodded.
“Now if there’s something going on outside of work, get it taken care of, okay?” Barker said.
Jake nodded again. “Yes sir.”
Barker stiffened again. “You’re suspended for one day. Get your shit together. That’s all,” Barker said, sitting back down at his desk.
Jake left the office, went home, and passed out. The dream was waiting for him.
#
He was back in his cab, in the same dark alley. The woman was there, beckoning him into the back seat.
Jake climbed over the armrest, feeling the sticky leather. He brought his palm to his face and looked at his hand. In the street lamp’s glow, it looked crimson.
“What do you want, Jake?” the woman asked.
Jake looked back at the woman. To his surprise, she wasn’t alone.
A naked, heavyset man with close-cropped graying hair was kneeling with his back to Jake. In front of him, the woman sat in the back seat with her legs spread wide. A sheen of sweat covered the man’s hairy back as he rocked his hips back and forth between the woman’s open thighs. Jake could hear the woman’s breath coming in shorter and shorter gasps as the man’s thrusts came faster and faster.
“Does he fuck you like this?” the man asked the woman.
The woman wrapped her legs around the man’s hips, pulling him deeper into her. The man braced his hands on her hips for leverage, putting his sizeable weight behind each thrust.
Then the man started to groan and Jake knew he was close. An instant later he let out a loud moan and arched his back as he emptied himself. Then the man slumped backwards, seemingly exhausted, obscuring Jake’s view of the woman.
The man didn’t move. Minutes ticked by in silence with Jake still frozen in the driver’s seat. Finally, Jake spoke.
“Hey, buddy, are you okay?” Jake asked.
There was no reply.
“Buddy?” Jake said, extending a hand. Jake grasped the man’s shoulder. His flesh was cold and clammy. Jake shook him.
“You awake?” Jake asked.
Still, the man didn’t reply. Jake climbed part way into the back and pulled on the man’s shoulder. He heard a wet sucking noise, then something splashed his eyes, temporarily blinding him. Jake jerked his hand back and felt the man slump to the floor.
Jake wiped his eyes with his sleeve then opened them. At his feet, the man’s body lay covered in blood, his erect penis protruding like a crimson appendage. Blood was everywhere. Splattered across the windows and seats. Little pools were forming on the floor. A huge chunk of the man’s throat was missing and blood was still gurgling out of the wound.
#
It was dark when Jake woke up. He’d slept the whole day. He stayed in bed for several minutes as he tried to get the image of the man’s blood soaked penis out of his head. Realizing it was a lost cause; he got up from the air mattress he used for a bed, stumbled across his empty studio apartment to the clothes pile he used for a closet, dressed, and headed out.
The city night was alive with smells and energy. Crowds of people moved up and down the streets to nightclubs, restaurants, and shows. Jake let himself get lost in the flow as he wandered from block to block.
It was almost dawn by the time Jake made his way back to his apartment. Fifteen minutes ago he’d felt full of energy, but now he was beginning to drag. It was too late to go to sleep though. He was due at work at noon, and didn’t want to risk oversleeping.
#
Jake clocked in at ten minutes to twelve. Barker was waiting for him.
“Take care of your business?” Barker asked.
“Yes sir,” Jake replied.
“Good. Now get to work,” Barker said.
“Yes sir,” Jake said, relieved. He’d already had three cups of black coffee and a red bull, but he was still dragging.
Ten minutes later, Jake was back behind the wheel. It felt good, like a fresh start. “The future’s so bright…” he chuckled as he put on his sunglasses to shield his eyes from the unusually bright early-afternoon sun.
#
For most of the day, all Jake could think about was getting back to his apartment and crashing. He could barely keep his eyes open, let alone work the meter and navigate traffic, but somehow he managed, and around sunset, he caught a second wind.
Good thing too, as the early evening traffic was bustling. Jake spent much of the final hour of his shift ferrying young executives between office complexes and downtown bars. He’s just clicked off the on-duty roof light, and signaled to pull back into traffic when he heard his back door open.
“Sorry, I’m off duty,” Jake said glancing up into the rear view.
A man in his mid twenties with a powerful build, strong jaw, and close-cropped hair had climbed into his back seat. His suit probably cost more than Jake made in a month, but his blood shot eyes told Jake he was loaded in more ways than one.
“What?” the man asked.
“I’m off duty,” Jake said again.
“Off duty?” the man asked.
“I’m afraid so. Didn’t you see my light was off?” Jake said.
“Dude, I’m fuckin’ blitzed. I can’t see shit,” the man said with a laugh.
“Yeah well, you’re going to have to find another cab,” Jake said.
“Fuck that man, I’m here,” the man said.
“Look I’m sorry but,” Jake began.
“Hundred bucks,” the man interrupted, “Hundred bucks if you take me and the lady uptown.”
“Lady?” Jake asked.
“Yeah…” the man said, looking around. “Get in here babe,” he said through the open back door, “I told you I’d take care of it.” He turned and met Jake’s eyes in the rear-view, “We got a deal?”
Jake sighed. “Sure,” he said.
Jake recognized the legs right away. Her long, dark hair obscured her face, but Jake knew it was her. Jake hated the man in the back of his cab.
Jake pulled out into traffic, not even noticing the Mercedes he cut off in the process. Behind him, Jake could hear the leather crunch and squeak under the squirming bodies of his passengers. Jake checked the rear-view and saw the back of the man’s head and he tried to swallow the woman’s face.
“Where to?” Jake asked.
“Uptown,” the man mumbled.
“Where uptown?” Jake asked.
When his passengers ignored him, Jake cleared his throat and asked again.
“Huh?” the man asked, not even turning away from the woman.
“You said uptown, I asked where,” Jake said.
“Oh, fuck, I don’t know,” the man said, “Where are we going babe?” the man asked.
The woman gave an address Jake recognized, and he got to the old house in record time.
“We’re here,” Jake said as they arrived.
He hadn’t even come to a complete stop when he heard the back door open. His eyes instinctively went to the rear-view and he saw the man get out. He didn’t even bother closing the door.
“Hey, you forgot to pay,” Jake shouted. He craned his neck to see them but they were already inside the house.
“Asshole,” Jake muttered as he put the car in park, got out, and walked around to close the door. As he did so, he glanced up at the old house. The front door was open. Apparently, the man’s disregard for closing doors extended beyond cabs. He closed the back door of his cab, and got back in the driver’s seat.
Jake idled for there for several minutes, staring at the open front door of the row house and thinking about how much he hated the man who had just gotten out of his cab. Finally, Jake cut the ignition and got out. Ten paces later, he was through the front door.
Jake found himself inside a small foyer, with a large set of stairs leading up to his left, and what was once a dining room to his right. Straight back was the kitchen. The smell of dust and mold hung in the air. The house was devoid of furniture, though from the inside Jake could see it was indeed an antique.
“Hey,” Jake said loud enough for his voice to carry. “You forgot to pay.”
There was no answer.
Jake started up the stairs. The first step groaned under his weight. The second step was even worse, its groan followed by a faint cracking noise. Jake reached out for the railing as shifted his weight between the second and third steps, and in doing so, probably saved himself a twisted ankle, as, with a crack like a baseball bat, the second step opened up and swallowed Jake’s foot.
Jake pulled his foot out of the hole, then, stretching back as far as he could, placed it on the ground. Then, he shifted his weight from his foot on the third step to his foot on the ground. He could feel his hamstrings strain as he forced himself back, but then he was safe, breathing heavily at the foot of the stairs.
When his breathing subsided Jake was able to make out another sound; a faint grunting noise. At first, he thought it was coming from upstairs, but then he realized, not upstairs, but from the stairs. Jake leaned over the hole he’d made in the steps with his foot and was surprised to see candlelight.
Realizing there must be a basement. Jake walked toward the kitchen, studying the wall that ran alongside the stairs. Sure enough, about halfway down the hall there was a small door. Jake opened it and found a narrow staircase leading down to the darkness.
“Oh yeah baby, that’s right.” Jake recognized the male passenger’s voice as it drifted up the stairwell in front of him. “Does he fuck you like this?”
Down the stairwell, Jake could see the candlelight flickering off bare concrete walls. As quietly as possible, Jake made his way halfway down the stairs. There he crouched and looked under the handrail into the room below him.
The basement consisted of a single room about twenty feet square. There were no windows, and the only illumination came from several candles placed on the floor. In the center of the room was an old, yellowing mattress. On the mattress were his passengers.
The man was on top, with his trousers bunched up around his ankles. His shirt and jacket lay tossed in one of the darker corners and Jake could see the man’s muscular back glisten with a fine sheen of sweat in the candlelight.
The woman had her eyes closed as she squirmed under the man’s thrusting hips. Even in the dim candlelight, this was the closest look Jake had gotten at her face and he wasn’t disappointed. Her features were exquisitely proportioned, with full lips, high cheekbones and a delicate jaw.
Then, her eyes opened and focused right on Jake.
Jake felt short of breath as his heart thumped. The woman just smiled as she turned to the man on top of her.
“Are you close?” she asked.
The man grunted. “Yeah baby, don’t—uhh—know—ohh—how much longer I can hold out,” he said breathlessly.
“Just a little longer,” she said, “I’m almost there.”
“Yeah? Let me hear it baby—uhh, yeah– let me hear it when you cum.”
“Oh you’ll hear it,” she said as she began to buck her hips against his crotch.
“Oh, watch out baby,” the man said, clearly struggling to hold on.
“Don’t come yet,” the woman said.
“Uh, too late,” the man said as he let out a low.
“You bastard,” the woman said. Then she looked directly at Jake and smiled a broad smile. Something about that smile struck Jake as odd, like there were too many teeth.
Then, in a quick, savage, motion, the woman reached up, grabbed the man’s shoulders, and latched her mouth to his neck. Jake heard a sickly tearing sound, like a wet head of lettuce being torn in half.
The smell hit Jake instantly. A pungent aroma, like an old, dark wine.
The woman, her mouth still firmly attached to the man’s throat rocked him gently. Jake saw her eyes roll back as she threw back her head and let out a deep, guttural, moan while her whole body spasmed.
“Did you hear that?” she asked the male passenger who was now missing a good chunk of his throat.
He didn’t reply.
The woman laughed and planted her mouth back on the red blotch as another shudder passed through her body.
“Come on Jake,” the woman said in between gulps. A tiny rivulet of blood trickled down her chin to her breast.
Jake didn’t answer.
“I know you’re there Jake. I saw you watching us,” she said. “You’ve got to be hungry. When was the last time you ate?”
“What?” Jake whispered.
“When was the last time you ate Jake?” she asked. She had forsaken the wound to look at him directly. Her large eyes bore into him, and even the smear of gore around her mouth couldn’t detract from her beauty. “Think about it,” she said.
Jake thought. He could remember drinking plenty, but when was the last time he’d eaten anything?
“I don’t—I don’t know,” he said.
“And I bet you can smell all this blood can’t you?” she asked, licking her lips.
“Yes,” Jake said.
“And it bet,” she whispered, “I bet it smells pretty good.”
Jake swallowed hard. “Yeah…” he whispered in return.
“Now doesn’t that seem odd to you?” she asked.
“What do you,” Jake started, then it hit him. The late nights, the sensitivity to sunlight, the constant thirst, it all made sudden, horrible sense.
“Oh my G-,” he began.
“Sshhh,” she said putting a finger to her lips. Then she turned the male passenger’s body so the tear in his throat was clearly visible to Jake. “What do you want Jake?” she asked.
His vision blurred. He knew should get up, should get out of there, but suddenly he was thirsty. So very thirty. Just a little taste, he thought. The man was already dead so it wouldn’t hurt anything. Just a taste.
Jake stood up and stumbled down the rest of the stairs. He fell to his knees on the mattress next to the woman. She was still lying on her back, with the man on top of her.
“Here you go,” she said, offering him the wound.
Careful not to touch the man’s sweaty skin, Jake brought his head closer to the source of the aroma that transfixed him. His mouth watered in anticipation and Jake felt a few droplets of saliva dribble down his chin. He extended his tongue to the top of the sizeable wound, inches from where the woman was suckling.
The sensation gripped every nerve in his body, sending waves of pleasure from his toes to his scalp. The intensity of the sensation caused Jake to collapse, sandwiching the naked body between him and the woman. The woman let out a groan of delight and Jake realized the man was still inside her. Jake fixed his mouth on the wound and began to gulp.
Then everything went black.
Jake woke up, naked and alone on the mattress. The candles were out and the room was completely dark.
“Hello?” Jake asked the room.
When he got no reply, Jake began feeling the floor around the mattress. Down by his feet he found his clothes. He dressed in the dark and felt his way to the stairs.
Jake could see streetlight streaming in through the ground floor windows. Good, he thought, still night. He hadn’t been out that long. “Hello?” Jake asked again and once again, got no reply.
Jake went out to the street and checked on his cab. It was still where he’d parked it. He opened the trunk, took out a large flashlight, and went back into the house.
Back downstairs, Jake used the flashlight to inspect the basement. Except for the mattress, it was empty. Jake checked the mattress but couldn’t find even the slightest trace of blood. Jake walked back upstairs.
Upstairs, Jake found a mirror. He was a little disheveled but otherwise fine. No sign of blood.
Back in his cab, Jake checked the time and discovered he’d only been out for a few hours. Jake radioed he was coming in and pulled away.
Barker was waiting for him when he pulled in. “Let’s have it,” Barker said as Jake got out of the car. Immediately Jake was struck by the smell of blood. Not as strong as he remembered from his–dream? But it was there nonetheless. Jake tried to ignore it.
“Sorry boss, I know I’m a few hours late but,” Jake began.
“A few hours?” Barker cut him off.
The smell was getting stronger. Jake could almost hear the blood pumping through Barker’s veins. It was all he could do to keep his voice steady.
“Yeah honestly I’m not sure what happened one minute I was,” Jake began.
“You missed the whole fucking day Jake,” Barker growled.
“What?” Jake asked.
“Your first day back and you miss a whole day,” Barker said. “What does that tell me?”
“The whole day?” Jake muttered.
“What is it Jake?” Barker asked. “Drugs? What? I fucking warned you.”
“What—what day is it?” Jake asked.
“Pack your shit. You’re fired,” Barker asked.
“What day is it!” Jake asked. The blood smell was almost overpowering now. Jake forced himself not to stare at the bulging vain on Barker’s forehead.
Barker glared at him. Then, realizing Jake wasn’t fucking with him, softened.
“It’s Friday,” Barker said softly, “I’m sorry Jake.” Barker turned and walked away. Jake had an urge to follow him—to follow the smell—but he ignored it. Instead, he went back into the garage.
A few guys were there, milling around. Harry, a retired electrician who drove to have something to do approached Jake.
“Hey Jake, sorry about what happened,” Harry said. His blood had a stale smell.
“Yeah, listen, I was hoping you could do me a favor,” Jake said.
“Sure Jake, what’cha need?” Harry replied.
Jake stared at the floor to avoid looking at the veins in Harry’s neck.
“I need a ride to the hospital,” Jake said fighting to keep his voice level, “I think something’s really wrong with me.”
“Sure Jake, I know that was hard to say,” Harry said, putting his arm around Jake’s shoulders. Jake squeezed his eyes shut and tried to put the thought of ripping the old man’s throat open out of his mind.
“Can we go right now?” Jake asked.
“Sure we can. Let’s go,” Harry said, turned and headed for his cab. Jake took several deep breaths, followed him, and got in the back.
“You don’t have to ride back there,” Harry said.
“It’s okay,” Jake said, not trusting himself to sit next to the old man for the duration of the ride.
“Next stop, the hospital,” Harry said.
Jake closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. By the time they got to the hospital, Jake felt more in control.
“Thanks Harry,” Jake said as he got out.
“You get well son, we’ll be waiting for you,” Harry said.
“I will Harry, thanks again,” Jake said as he closed the door.
Jake watched Harry drive off then went into the emergency room, signed himself in, sat down, and waited, grateful the room was deserted.
After about fifteen minutes, a young woman called Jake’s name and lead him through a maze of corridors. Jake felt his mouth start to water at the rich scent of her blood.
Eventually, they reached a small room with a paper-covered chair. The doctor would be with him shortly, the woman said and left, closing the door behind her. Jake wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
Ten minutes later, the door opened and an older man in a white doctor’s coat came in. Like Harry’s, the doctor’s blood had a stale odor that allowed Jake more self-control.
“Good evening Jake, what seems to be the trouble?” the doctor asked looking down at his.
“I’m not sure doc, that’s why I’m here,” Jake said.
“Well, why don’t you start by telling me what’s bothering you,” the doctor said.
“Blood,” Jake said.
“I’m sorry?” The doctor said.
“I need—that is, I think I need—blood,” Jake said.
“A transfusion?” The doctor asked.
“No,” Jake said. “It’s just–like, my body’s craving it. Is that even possible?”
“Look if this is some kind of joke,” the doctor said.
“No–look, I’m sorry—but I’m not joking. I know it sounds crazy, but I can smell blood. I can smell it right now. Can you please just check me out and make sure I’m okay,” Jake said.
“You on anything?” the doctor asked.
“On anything?” Jake asked.
“Heroin, PCP?” The doctor asked.
“No, nothing,” Jake said.
“Hmnnn,” the doctor made some notes on his clipboard. “Are you anemic?”
“I don’t know,” Jake said.
The doctor made a few more notes on his clipboard. “Well, we can run some tests. I’ll send a nurse to take a blood sample and we’ll start from there, okay?” the doctor said.
“Sure doc. Thanks,” Jake said, mustering a small smile.
The doctor left the room.
Fifteen minutes later, a nurse came in wheeling a small cart. Her rich, young blood scent filled the room. She asked Jake to roll up his sleeve and tied a small rubber strip around his arm, just above his elbow. The sickly-sweet smell of her blood was overwhelming. This close, Jake could almost taste it.
“Squeeze this,” she said and handed him a small rubber ball.
Jake did so, mainly to distract himself from the pale blue veins visible under the nurse’s skin as she swabbed Jake’s forearm with alcohol. Jake was so focused on the ball that he didn’t notice the nurse stick him. It wasn’t until he saw his own blood fill the hypodermic that the pain hit him.
It was as if she were dragging a scouring pad through his veins. Jake cried out in agony and jerked his arm away. The hypodermic flew across the room and the little hole in Jake’s arm sprayed a crimson arc across the nurse’s blue-green shirt.
He could feel the nurse’s pulse quicken as a result of his actions, pumping her delicious blood even faster. Jake’s jaw dropped and he let out a low moan as a strand of drool ran down his chin. The nurse shrieked and ran out of the room.
Jake stood there, mouth open and drooling for a moment longer, until the smell of her blood faded. Then, he left the room, headed for the nearest exit and left the hospital.
Outside, the scent of blood was everywhere. It drifted on the wind, it lingered in alleys, and clung to the street. Jake closed his eyes, trying to block it out, but the ache in his stomach was too great. Just a taste, he told himself, something to get the edge off. Jake stumbled to the curb and hailed a cab.
The cab pulled up and Jake got in.
“You okay man?” the driver asked.
Jake nodded and the cab pulled into traffic. Jake felt cold despite the warm temperature, and his skin felt clammy. Slowly, his eyes fell shut, as the cab made its way uptown.
“We’re here,” the driver said.
Jake woke up. He had no idea how long he’d been out. They were parked in front of the old townhouse.
The backdoor opened. Jake looked up to see the mystery woman get in. She was wearing the cocktail dress with the long slit, just like the night he first saw her.
“You gettin’ out buddy?” the driver asked, looking at Jake through the rear view mirror.
“I’m-” Jake looked at the woman, “I’m not sure,” he said.
“Your dime, but make up your mind quick eh?” the driver said.
The woman was smiling at Jake. “What do you want Jake?” she asked.
Jake heard the driver distantly mutter something, but his attention was firmly fixed on the woman next to him in the seat.
“Take it Jake,” she said.
“I can’t,” Jake replied.
“You need it,” she said.
“I can’t!” Jake argued.
“Sure you can,” she said. “Just take a taste Jake, just like before, a little taste,” she said. “Do it for me.”
Jake looked at the driver’s neck through the space between the seat and the headrest. The veins throbbed. Jake leaned forward and inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of the driver’s blood.
Without thinking, he reached around and pinned the driver’s head with one arm and the driver’s chest with the other. Then he planted his mouth on the man’s neck.
Of course, Jake had no fangs so all he could do was bite down on a chunk of flesh and tear it off like chicken from a bone, but it did the job. The driver howled in pain and thrashed wildly, but the combination of Jake’s arms and the seatbelt held him fast. Blood pulsed out of the wound as the driver kicked, screamed and pounded the car horn.
The woman laughed.
Jake fixed his mouth on the open wound and began to drink. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over him. After a few minutes, the man stopped struggling but Jake, eyes closed in ecstasy, kept gulping.
A flash of bright light jarred Jake from his reverie. A flashlight shone into the cab on the driver’s side.
“Jesus Gary,” a voice outside the door said. Jake grimaced and turned away from the blinding light. The backdoor of the cab opened.
“Get out of the cab with your hands in the air!” came another voice, this one from the passenger side.
Jake looked over to the woman, unsure what to do. She was gone.
“Get out now!” the second voice said again.
Jake let go of the driver, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and scooted toward the open back door.
“Careful Gary,” the first voice said.
Jake’s knees felt weak as he got out of the cab and stood up. Two men in police uniforms stood on either side of him. One held a flashlight that he kept trained on Jake’s face.
“Step away from the vehicle,” said the man on Jake’s left, who Jake assumed was Gary.
Jake took a step back and Gary closed the cab’s back door.
“Now turn and face the vehicle, and place your hands behind your head” Jake did as he was told, and felt a sudden weight crush into him, pinning him against door. The impact sent flecks of blood flying from Jake’s mouth and chin onto the roof of the cab.
Jake felt cold metal on his wrist, then hands pulling him backward. As he stepped back, he saw the cab driver’s mutilated throat, along with the blood splattered all over the inside of the cab, and saw his own gore smeared reflection in the window and the weight of the situation hit him.
“Oh, oh, oh fuck—it’s not what it looks like,” Jake began.
“The hell it’s not,” the man on Jake’s right said.
“Save it Dan,” Gary replied and began to read Jake his rights.
#
Abernathy sighed as he looked through the file. This was gonna be one of those, he thought. Through the one-way glass, he watched Jake in the interrogation room.
“Fucking hell, it burns!” Jake cried.
Jake sat in a small metal chair bolted to the floor at the end of a narrow table. His cuffed hands were up, trying to shield his face from the large light hanging overhead.
“Damnit, it’s burning my skin!” Jake cried.
Christ, Abernathy thought, this isn’t gonna be easy. He entered the interrogation room and turned off the light closest to Jake.
Jake slumped back in his chair.
The door behind him opened, and Abernathy watched a short, portly man with a receding hairline and an ill-fitting suit, walk in and sit down beside Jake. The portly man reeked of sweat.
“I’m your court-appointed-lawyer,” the portly man said.
“Nice to meet you,” Jake said.
“You may proceed,” the portly man said to Abernathy.
“Jake, I’m Lieutenant Abernathy. I’m going to ask you some questions. Now, your lawyer’s going tell you that you don’t have to say a thing.”
“That’s correct,” the lawyer said.
“But you’ll make things a lot easier on yourself if you cooperate,” Abernathy continued. “Also, I’m obliged to tell you this entire conversation is being videotaped. Do you understand?”
“Yeah,” Jake replied.
“Okay,” Abernathy said. He pulled a black and white photo of a heavy-set man with close-cropped hair from his folder and placed it on the table in front of Jake. “Do you know this man?” he asked.
“No,” Jake said.
“That’s Edward Sloan,” Abernathy said. “Name ring a bell?”
“No,” Jake said.
“When was the last time you saw him?” the lieutenant asked.
“I’ve never met him,” Jake replied.
“Really?” Abernathy said. “We found his business card in your cab.”
“I get a lot of cards,” Jake said. “Maybe I gave him a ride, I don’t remember.”
“You have a girlfriend, Jake?” Abernathy asked.
“What?” Jake asked.
“A girlfriend. Seeing anyone?” Abernathy asked.
“No,” Jake said.
“Know a Linda Morgan?” Abernathy asked.
“No,” Jake replied.
“You sure?” Abernathy pressed.
“I said no,” Jake said.
“Maybe a picture would help your memory,” Abernathy said, looking at the photo in his file. She was a good-looking girl. Long, dark hair, creamy skin, fine features. Out of this kid’s league. He placed the photo on the table and Jake nearly jerked out of his chair.
“Recognize her?” Abernathy asked.
“Yes,” Jake said.
“When was the last time you saw her?” Abernathy asked.
“Tonight,” Jake said.
“What about Ken Wallace?” Abernathy asked. “Recognize that name?”
“No,” Jake said.
Abernathy placed a photo of Wallace in front of Jake. “Recognize him?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Jake said. “I picked him up. I drive—I drove—a cab,” Jake answered.
“And when was this?” Abernathy asked.
“I’m not sure, the night before-maybe two nights before you arrested me,” Jake replied.
“Which is it?” Abernathy asked.
“I’m not sure,” Jake replied.
“Okay, what about the time. Do you remember what time you picked him up?” Abernathy asked.
“I don’t know, a little before nine?” Jake answered.
“Where’d you drop him?” Abernathy asked.
“An old townhouse uptown,” Jake answered.
“The same townhouse where we picked you up?” Abernathy asked.
“Yeah,” Jake answered.
“And had you seen him before that?” Abernathy asked.
“No,” Jake answered.
“Are you sure?” Abernathy asked.
“Yeah,” Jake replied.
“Jake,” Abernathy said. “Lying is just going to make things harder for you. We know everything.”
“What are you talking about?” Jake replied.
“We know you started a company called DataTek,” Abernathy said. “High-tech startup, had something to do with cellphones. I’ll be honest I don’t really understand it, but we know you partnered with Ken Wallace to get funding, and that Ken introduced you to Edward Sloan.”
“What?” Jake whispered.
“That’s all public knowledge Jake. IRS records, articles of incorporation, it’s all here,” Abernathy said, lifting a swath of papers from his folder and placing them in front of Jake, who stared at them, wide-eyed.
“Sloan was the money-man, big venture capitalist, and Wallace was the smooth-talking deal-maker. We interviewed several of your former coworkers,” Abernathy continued. “We know you met Linda Morgan through Ken, that you dated her briefly before inviting her to move in with you, and that you two had a big fight at last year’s holiday party at the Marriott, after which you left the company. Wallace and Sloan went through with the IPO and eventually sold the company to Nextel. You never saw a dime.”
Jake, eyes still on the documents Abernathy had laid before him, was silent. The kid was a good actor, Abernathy thought.
“So, what happened Jake?” Abernathy asked. “We heard rumors that you walked in on Linda and Ken at the party, but then we also heard it might have been her and Sloan. Who was it Jake?”
Jake’s looked up from the papers. His gaze bore into Abernathy, who knew he was close.
“Was Edward Sloan alive the last time you saw him Jake?” Abernathy asked.
“You don’t have to answer that,” the lawyer piped up.
“Are you still sure you’ve never seen Edward Sloan before?” Abernathy asked.
“Yes,” Jake replied.
Abernathy took a deep breath. “Okay Jake, then maybe you can explain the clothes we found in your apartment. They were in a trash under the sink… I could go get them but somehow I think you’ll remember them.”
“Yeah, I remember them,” Jake said.
“They were covered in Edward Sloan’s blood. How do you explain that?” Abernathy asked.
“Don’t answer that Jake,” the lawyer said.
Jake remained silent.
“Which brings us to Mitch Anderson,” Abernathy said.
“Who?” Jake asked.
“Mr. Mitch Anderson,” Abernathy replied, reading from his folder, “Six feet tall, brown hair, brown eyes, one-hundred eighty-five pounds, born June twelve, son of Robert and Carol Wallace, and, until he met you, employed full time by the Yellow Top cab company.”
Abernathy placed a photo in front of Jake. A black and white picture of Anderson’s body. The wound in his throat looked like some kind of large black scab.
Jake looked at the picture. “He gave me a ride,” Jake said.
“Had you ever seen him before?” Abernathy asked.
“Not that I remember,” Jake said.
“Where did he pick you up?” Abernathy asked.
“Outside the hospital, I’m not sure,” Jake replied. “I was groggy, I didn’t feel well.”
“Were you high?” Abernathy asked.
“No I don’t—why does everyone keep thinking I’m on drugs?”
“Who? Who else thinks you’re on drugs?” Abernathy asked.
“Don’t answer that,” the lawyer said.
Abernathy let out a long sigh. “Look Jake, I’m trying to help you, but you ought to know, we found the other bodies.”
“Other bodies?” Jake asked.
“We have witnesses that saw you going into the house, we found evidence in your own apartment,” Abernathy said.
“What other bodies?” Jake asked.
“Son, I want to understand what happened but you’re not helping,” Abernathy said.
“What other bodies!” Jake said.
Abernathy thumbed through the folder and produced a black and white picture of an old bathtub. The porcelain was chipped and cracked and the walls behind it were missing tiles. In the tub were the naked, blood-smeared bodies of Edward Sloan and Ken Wallace. Both had huge dark gashes in their throats.
“Where,” Jake began.
“Second floor of the town house,” Abernathy replied. “Lord knows how you got them up there though. Those steps are a death trap. One of my men twisted an ankle.”
“I, I didn’t-” Jake stuttered.
“So you see Jake,” Abernathy said, cutting Jake off, “It really doesn’t matter if you say anything or not. We’ve got you, plain and simple.”
Jake looked the lawyer, who had gone several shades paler after looking at the picture of the tub. The lawyer just shook his head. Jake felt his stomach threaten to turn over. Finally, he blurted out “It was her!”
“Who?” Abernathy asked.
“She made me do it,” Jake continued sobbing.
“Who made you do it?” Abernathy asked.
“She made me into a monster,” Jake said. The tears were flowing now.
“Linda?” Abernathy asked.
“She made me into this,” Jake choked.
“Into what?” Abernathy asked.
“I don’t know what I am!” Jake spat.
“Why don’t you start from the beginning,” Abernathy said.
“Jake I must advise against this,” the lawyer said.
“Fuck you! Don’t you get it? She pinned it all on me and there isn’t shit you can do about it!” Jake said.
“Very well, Jake,” the lawyer said.
“From the beginning,” Abernathy said.
#
Later, outside the interrogation room, Abernathy faced the lawyer.
“You’re going to plead insanity aren’t you?” Abernathy asked.
“What do you think?” the lawyer replied.
Abernathy sighed. “Yeah,” he said.
“What’s your take?” the lawyer asked, “Off the record, of course.”
Abernathy thought for a moment. “I think he really believes he’s some kind of vampire,” he said. “Some people can only handle so much guilt, you know? They reach a point where they convince themselves it’s not their fault. The devil made them do it.”
The lawyer was silent while he considered Abernathy’s theory. “What about the girl?” he asked.
“Dunno. Pretty sure he killed her, but we haven’t found her body yet. Forensics is gonna dig up the basement though. It’s got an earth floor.”
“Why bury her and not the others?” the lawyer asked.
“Who knows with a mind like that,” Abernathy answered.
“Yeah, I guess,” the lawyer said.
“One thing I don’t get though,” Abernathy said.
“What’s that?” the lawyer asked.
Abernathy paused.
“Off the record, of course,” the lawyer said.
“How’d he get the bodies up those stairs? I mean they were rotted inside and out, and forensics determined they hadn’t been tampered with,” Abernathy said.
The lawyer thought for a moment then shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now. That sicko’s going to a padded room, for the rest of his days.”
“Yeah,” Abernathy said.
The lawyer opened the door to leave the room, then stopped. “What about the blood tests?” he asked.
“What about them?” Abernathy asked in return.
“They find anything?” the lawyer asked.
“Like that he’s a vampire?” Abernathy replied.
“Yeah,” the lawyer said.
“No, he’s as normal as you or me. Hates getting his blood taken though, had to do it while he was asleep,” Abernathy replied.
The lawyer left.
Alone, Abernathy looked at Jake through the one-way glass. Jake looked up and for a moment their eyes met. In that instant, Abernathy felt something turn over in his stomach and he looked away.
THE END.
§
Like most of my stories, this one started with a single scene. In this case, it was a dark alley full of cops and cop cars, their guns and high-beams trained on a disheveled man who’d rigged up some kind of make-shift transfusion system that he was using to drink the blood of some poor victim.
The original story had a successful young man meeting a mysterious woman, who turns out to be a vampire. The man becomes obsessed with her, but she’s slowly killing him. Desperate, he begins to seek out transfusions to replenish the blood she’s taking, but when that ceases to be enough he resorts to the old medieval practice of drinking the blood himself. Of course, by this point he’s totally delusional from his severe anemia, and by the time the police catch up with him you’ve reached the above scene, which would have had him going to jail and the real vampire written off as a figment of his delusions.
I liked the story, but there was one big problem: I couldn’t write it. That original idea came to me in late high school/early college and my first draft read like a bad imitation of Raymond Chandler, and I knew it.
But the story kept coming back to me and every few years I’d give it another go. About four years ago I sat down and did a page-one rewrite, ditching the first-person narration and focusing more on the man and less on the vampire. This resulted in a fifteen-thousand-word story that was much too long for any magazine. With no hope of publication, it went back in the drawer.
Which brings us to the present. I dug this out, intending to give it a once-over and post it as-is, explaining how I’d lost the story, but as I re-read it, I saw how I’d become so fixated on the plot that I’d lost track of the characters. With that in mind, I slashed nearly half of the text, resulting in the story above.
So what was real and what wasn’t? Was the mystery woman a vampire, or a figment of Jake’s guilt-ridden conscience? I don’t know. Like you, I have an idea, but this is Jake’s story, and his point of view may be a bit skewed. What do you think?
