Chapter Two

Alex gazed at the dark, worn down houses. Everything was limp and cracked like a soggy milk carton. The smell of misery seeped from the cement and rotting wood. This was where he had to start, because this was where he had started. He could hear his father's voice even now, or was that only his memories? Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference.

He crawled into his bedroom window, still open from last week when she had taken him. The walls were bare, pieces of tape leftover from the posters Duncan tore down. It didn't take long for him to be forgotten. It was far too much to expect that he be missed at all, except perhaps as one misses a dog to kick around for their misfortunes.

"Stay in here until you can learn to shut your face you ungrateful little bastard!" Duncan screamed. His face was flushed red and his veins looked like they were about to explode. Those frantic pig eyes were on him and he felt only hatred and disgust. Alex winced away, as was expected of him, but his father wouldn't let go of his arm. There would be bruises tomorrow, but they hardly mattered compared to his fresh black eye. "Do you understand you little Devil?"

Alex nodded, scowling. Blood dripped down from his forehead where Duncan's belt loop had cut him. Duncan tossed him to the floor like a dog and slammed the door so hard the walls shook. Those walls seemed as thin as paper when you wanted to keep someone out and as thick as iron when you were trying to escape. Alex stayed, face buried in the rough, dirty carpet, digging his fingers into it like claws. How many more bloodstains would mar its taupe threads? He could hear a woman’s sobs from the house next-door. She sounded like his mother before Duncan's beatings had finally done enough damage. But it was better not to think of her or he would become more angry than afraid and then black eyes would seem like kindnesses.

"You can find the most interesting things in run down old houses?" a voice purred nonchalantly. Alex leapt up, heart racing once more. She was sitting by his window on the rickety wooden chair he usually wedged under the door-handle to keep Duncan out.

"Who are you?!" he gasped. She raised a slender finger to her blood red lips and glanced towards the door with her smoldering eyes. Alex cringed at the sound of his father stomping through the house. She was right, though the way she said it seemed more of a threat than a warning. Alex did not want Duncan to get his hands on this woman, whomever she was. What he might do to her was far worse than the beatings he gave hi teenage son. Besides, Alex wasn’t quite sure this woman was real. It wouldn’t be the first time Duncan’s punches had him seeing things. If she was indeed real he wanted her to himself, frightening though she was. Everything about her was like fire and he hoped she would burn this place to the ground.

"What do you want?" he set his back against the door, hand on the door- knob.

"Everyone asks the same questions, but they're usually a little more frightened." She looked expectantly at him.

"I'm sorry. I'll try to muster up some fear," Alex said. His voice was deadpan, as it had been since about the age of twelve. Realistically, this woman was after money, food, or electronics. Why else sneak into a strange teenage boy’s room? However this woman had gotten in, he didn’t have any money for her and Duncan would kill him if so much as a bread slice went missing.

"Teenagers are so jaded nowadays," she sighed, gliding towards him. He tried to twist the handle but it seared his skin. He yelped and yanked away. The faded gold paint was glowing red and he backed away from it "Wh-"

"I didn't think you really wanted to go out there," she said, grabbing his burnt hand and inspecting it. He bit back a cry of pain, as she crushed the red skin and forced him to his knees while at the same time making sounds of concern.

"Alex!" Duncan hollered from nearby. "Get out here and clean up this pit!"

Alex didn't look away from her, though. He couldn't. His eye's strained to pull away but there was a physical force holding him captive. She stroked a blood- matted strand of hair off his forehead and all he could see was flame. His breath hitched.

"Alex?" his father asked. His voice was soft and confused. For a moment Alex wondered if his father had changed. "Where the hell have you been, boy?" he continued. Alex's heart sunk again and the voice urged him on.

"Do it," it hissed. Duncan would never change. Even if he did, Alex didn't believe that he could forgive him. Duncan stormed into the room, the veins standing out in his large, bald head. His bulging muscles twitched in a way Alex had once learned to fear. Now, though, Alex was free to look around his old bedroom. This was the last time he would see the blood stained cot he'd slept in. It was the last time he'd wear the tattered clothes Duncan graciously thrown in every few years.

"I'm going to wear your hide for a shirt!" Duncan shouted, striding over to where Alex stood. Unconcerned; Alex's hands were resting inside the pockets of his worn black jacket. He leaned against the windowsill that framed the waxing moon like a painting.

When he showed no sign of the paralyzing fear that used to grip him at such times, Duncan slowed. He hesitated, and Alex turned. The moonlight cast most of his face in shadow, except for his eyes. The piercing blue globes shone in a way that was both eerie and impossible.

"Hello, Father," Alex greeted. He smiled slowly, lips pulling back from canine teeth sharper than knives. His dark, curly hair was matted from the rain outside. Duncan stepped back from Alex as quickly as he could.

"You...you..." he spluttered. Finally, the monster of a man who had caused him such terror his whole life was feeling the same. "yesssss," the voice snarled.

"I'm not here for the pleasure of your company, as I think you've guessed," Alex said. Duncan's gaze was glued to him. His watery brown eyes widened as Alex came closer. He was so close now, that his father's fear stank like month-old garbage.

"What do you want, Alexander?" his father asked. Alex's eyes widened at that, no doubt looking even more demonic.

"Want, Father? I want my childhood back! I want you to suffer for every time you hit me, and every time you hit my mother. I want you to pay!" He was shaking with rage now.

"Alexander?" his father pleaded, squirming pathetically.

"Stop calling me that, only Mother called me that," Alex said. Out of desperation, Duncan, attacked Alex. His meaty fist swung at the beautifully sculpted face, but his hand was met only air.

Duncan turned to face what he knew was behind him. Alex's entire face seemed to curl up into a horrific grin. His teeth ripped into the skin of Duncan's neck, through muscle and fat. He wasn't feeding on him; he was destroying him. He tasted like anger, bitter and hot.

The man's screams echoed through the neighborhood, but no one heard them. Screams had always come from that house, though usually they belonged to Alex or his mother. The street's inhabitants kept to themselves; what went on in Duncan's house was only his business.

When Alex finished, he went into the bathroom. His hand slid along the wall, leaving a red smear. Peeling off his blood encrusted clothes, he took the longest, hottest shower of his life. He hadn't been allowed over three minutes when he lived here. When he exceeded the time limit Duncan would whip him until he apologized for every drop of "wasted" water.

Alex sobbed in silence against the bathroom wall as the water hit him like tiny daggers. The tears were not for his father, or for him. They were for his mother, who had never escaped this hell and never would. Her face was faded in his mind, as he hoped Duncan’s would be soon.

When he recovered, Alex noticed that his skin looked rosy in the mirror, as though he was still alive. His blood was lighter and the strange presence in his mind lessened. It could have been from the shower...or the blood.

The steamy mirror cleared, and Alex brushed his hair and teeth. It felt different to brush his canines now. Even such a mundane action would never be the same. It felt strange that Alex could mourn this and not the death of his father. He cleaned the gore from under his fingernails, and dressed in some old, worn jeans. A black t-shirt completed the human facade, and he was fit to be seen in public again.

He took all of his father's cash and credit cards and pocketed them. Revenge wasn't supposed to feel good, but this did. He felt no remorse, only satisfaction. Was the devil in him taking over, or was it justice?

"Thou shalt not kill," Alex whispered. He hadn't come here specifically to kill Duncan, but he should have known that he would be driven to it. This was the path to corruption, and though he knew it, he could not turn away. He didn’t want to.

He turned to look the room over again, and felt a jolt of fear. A girl perched in the windowsill, above the horrific scene. The moonlight fell around her slender shoulders like a cloak. She couldn't have been more than twenty. Her short hair was as blue as the primary crayon color. Her skin was as white and perfect as marble and was pierced at the nose and all the way up her ears. What was it about his window that attracted strange people?

Alex felt his eyebrows rising, and the girl watched without emotion. Should he kill her? She was looking right at the corpse, but she didn't seem upset. In fact, a small smile played at the corners of her lips.

Alex took a step forward but fell back. He was torn with indecision. Dark whispers pressed at the corner of his mind but the light from the water was still keeping them at bay. He had to make a choice and he knew that if he killed her that he would surely be damned. If he did not kill her he would be hunted. The girl made the choice for him when she spoke.

"You'll have to get rid of that if you don't want the cops after you," she informed him in a voice as cool and fresh as mountain air.