It did not take Creep one day to heal his wounds. For three months he stayed in Concetta’s room as he recovered, trying not to move too much lest he reignite the pain in his side. It was worse than being cooped up in a jail cell. At least if he was in jail he wouldn’t have been treated like a kid, wiped up after like a baby. There he would have been treated like the man he felt he should be.
But no, every day for a week Concetta or one of her girls would come in and treat him. He had to wear a bulky cast wrapped around his torso, to help his ribs set right. They would bring him food and water, and he would eat and drink. Every two days they would turn him over, so that he wouldn’t get sores from lying in place.
After a week, the pain stopped enough for Creep to move around on his own. But Concetta would not let him go past the door of her room. And, while she had given him back his pants at least, everything else she still kept, perhaps as insurance that he would stay. He wanted to hate her for that, wanted to pound her head in the next time she walked through the door. And yet it seemed impossible for him; he turned back into a kid every time she strolled in to take care of him.
So most days he looked out the windows at the City beyond, watching the humans and enchanted moving through the streets as they led their lives. The seasons changed before his eyes, and the grey gloom of fall was accented by the white snows of winter before long. And still he watched, and in his heart he seethed. For out there in that sprawling metropolis there was work to be done, work that he needed to do. He tested himself constantly, waiting for the day that he would be good enough to go out and fight again.
Other times he would lie awake at night and listen to the sounds. The noises of the City were loud, but those of the brothel were louder still. Bad music that some considered sexy began to trickle up around evening, and didn’t stop till around four in the morning. And then there was the near constant sound of lust. It permeated the building. Creep felt he could not go two minutes without hearing something bumping around and the moaning of those in pleasure. Sometimes, the part of him that was a kid spoke to him and said he should want that himself. But he ignored it. A man was stronger than that, or so the part of him that shot and killed said.
One evening, as the shows beneath him began to run yet again, Concetta came to him. Creep was standing at the window, as always, watching the sun sink behind the grey monoliths of the City.
“You’re just scratching to get out, aren’t ya?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I guess.”
“Hm. I swear I never saw a more indecisive male than you,” Concetta said as she walked up to him. “You’re almost as bad as my girls downstairs.”
Creep turned red, as he did so often when Concetta spoke to him. “Why do you ask?”
“Seeing what the table looks like,” Concetta said. “Seeing what cards I’ve been dealt. Cause once you go back out there, you’ll start your killing again, though how you’ll manage it is beyond me. Yet for all your so called cunning you haven’t thought most things through. You need money for bullets, a place to hide. You can’t stay on the run forever, kid.”
“I can,” Creep replied. Concetta laughed.
“Sometimes my girls say that,” she said. “Especially if they’re new. They’ll run off for a month or so, but after that they’ll come crawling back. And they’re perfect at that point. I could ask a human like that to bed a centaur, and she’d do it without a second thought. You’ll be back here, kid. But don’t worry, I’ll make use of you.”
Being spoken of as a potential candidate for Concetta’s house made Creep shake. Concetta noticed and walked up behind him. She ran a hand across his chest. Creep’s body tightened in response to her touch.
“Mm. You’ll be perfect,” she said. “A little Tiresias potion, and they’ll never know you had something to blush about once.”
Before Creep could even ask what a Tiresias potion was, one of Concetta’s girls burst into the room. Concetta whirled on her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” the madam asked. “What fool told you flailing in here was a good idea?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Lucca,” the girl blathered. “But it’s the Nail. The Nail’s back!”
Concetta shook her head at this. It was an odd action; Creep had never seen her act worried before.
“We paid enough last week,” she said to her girl. “There’s no need for it.”
“But I’m saying she’s in the lobby and she wants to speak with you,” the girl insisted. “I ain’t lying, Miss Lucca. Wish to God I was.”
Concetta nodded. “Get the girls and take them in the back. Hide.” She turned to Creep. “Here, take the boy with you. He won’t be of much help here anyway.”
Concetta took Creep by the arm and pulled him over. The girl took his hand and began to lead him away with urgency. There was no resistance on his part. The girl pulled him out of the room and closed the door behind her.
“What’s going on?” Creep asked as he was led along.
“The Nail’s here,” the girl said. She pulled Creep along faster, looking up and down the hall.
“Who’s The Nail?” Creep asked. The girl looked at him with wide eyes.
“You ain’t heard of The Nail?” she asked. “She runs this part of the City! How can you not have heard of her?”
“I’m new in town,” Creep replied. The girl ignored his response and kept pulling him along.
At last they came to a room at the far end of the hall. The girl fought with the knob for a few moments, her hands slipping off in anxiety. She finally wrenched it open and pushed Creep inside. He turned to look at where he was as she closed the door after them. It looked to be a barely used back office, a slight layer of dust on the floor was indicative of that.
“We’ll be safe enough here, if it all goes well,” the girl said. She walked over to a corner, holding herself and shaking as she walked. Creep paid her no mind. Something was out of place here, and he picked up on it right away. A single pair of paw prints lead from the door over to a desk. He walked along the path they made, tracing each padded imprint in the dust.
“What are you doing?” the girl asked.
Creep ignored her, he was caught up in himself now. He began to pull the drawers out of the desk, searching through them for what he half-hoped would be there. Something rattled in the last drawer as he wrenched it out of the desk. Creep reached down and pulled it out. It was his gun, the one that Concetta had taken from him when he had taken him in.
He cradled it in his hands. After so long without the pistol, it seemed to be an almost alien thing now. Touching it brought back the memories of the last time he had used it. All of the gunblasts and the blood came flowing back to him. He almost threw it back down. He couldn’t go back to that part of himself. He hadn’t been able to handle it last time.
And then he saw something else in that drawer, something that had probably been there longer than the gun, yet was just as significant to him. A roll of black bandages was lying there.
Creep reached into the drawer and took the roll in his hands. The last time he had seen these, some had been wrapped around his head. They had hidden him, no, not hidden, transformed him. When those bandages came on it was like a whole new person came into existence. The boy passed away and a man was pushed from the womb of circumstance. So the labor pains began and Creep wrapped his head in the bandages.
Even as he tucked the last one into place and his entire head was enclosed, Creep felt the old feelings return, the ones that spoke of killings to come. But he did not flinch from those feelings as he had in Concetta’s presence. No, now he embraced them as he had before. The gun still had ammunition in it, he could feel the bullets weight. Creep, now a man once more, stood; chaos had come again.
The girl whimpered in the corner. She had no idea of what was going on, did not understand what was unfolding. Creep turned to her.
“Stay here,” he said. All she could do was nod and go to her knees in the corner. Creep gave her no more thought as he opened the door and stepped back out into the hallway.
Off down the hall, at the entrance to Concetta’s room, two unsavory characters had taken up posts. Whoever this Nail was, they meant business; these guys had magnums and looked ready to use them. Creep walked towards them with brisk steps, his bare feet making dull thuds on the wood floor. They turned and saw him coming. He saw them begin to point their magnums at him, saw his death already written in their eyes. His gun rose to meet theirs and he wrote something new upon their bodies. With rapid pulls of the trigger he sent bullets burrowing into their bodies, sending blood everywhere. They staggered back, the hot lead sapping their life away even as Creep pulled the trigger again and the gun clicked empty. It hit the floor at the same time that the guards did, both making a dull thump as they came down.
Creep felt alive again. All of his nerves were on edge again and the electricity was coursing through his veins again. Three months of healing had not done anything like this for him. This had given him new strength and had reminded him of his purpose in this city, a purpose that still called out, “Blood for blood.”
“What’s that?” asked a woman’s voice from inside Concetta’s room. Creep did not recognize it and he guessed that it might be The Nail. This didn’t bother him; he had put aside most common courtesy when he had come to this place. Defeating her would be no different than defeating any man.
Creep opened up the door and looked into Concetta’s room. The werecat lay on the floor, looking up at a long woman in a dark business suit. The other woman’s face was as pale as death itself, her figures were gaunt and bony, and her nails were longer than was natural for most other women. But this wasn’t what made Creep stop. There was a large stake sticking out of her chest, and yet she still moved and lived. This wasn’t possible. A regular person should be dead with an injury like that. And then Creep remembered what one usually killed with a stake to the heart, and why that would not work here.
“You look surprised,” the vampire said. Creep shrugged his shoulders. A hiss escaped from her throat as she turned towards him. “You should be scared stiff. Don’t you know who I am? I’m The Nail!”
It was a well deserved name, Creep thought in the back of his mind. But that was only a moment’s thought. “There’s only one name that matters to me, and that’s mine. I’m Creep.”
“Why should I care?” The Nail asked. Without another pause she lunged forward at Creep, appearing before him in the blink of an eye, standing over him like a tower. Her thin, pale blue hands grabbed his shirt collar and hoisted him into the air. Caught by surprise, he kicked and flailed around in an effort to earn some release. It didn’t happen. The Nail hurled him to one side and he hit the wall of Concetta’s room hard. He slumped to the floor, all of the wind knocked out of him.
The Nail strode over to Creep, her shoes pounding out a rhythm on the floor; hammering out the sound of death. As she stood over him, he kicked out and knocked her over. Her long body fell to the floor in a sprawl, pulling down a silken sheet on the way. Creep threw himself at her and tackled her. He straddled her body and let his fists fly. His knuckles pounded her face over and over again, bringing forth the coagulated blood that ran through her long dead veins.
The Nail wasn’t about to let herself get beaten. She grabbed Creep’s sides and let her long nails sink in. A sharp spasm of pain hit him and he tried to pull her off. His healed rib was still tender. Taking advantage of this, The Nail pushed Creep off of her and kicked at him. Her foot collided with his side and he yelled out in pain, rolling away from her in an effort to recover.
With a whirl The Nail was back on her feet. Creep hurried to get up as well. He was still hunched over when the vampire charged him. Her lithe body tackled him and threw him across the floor. Over and over he rolled until he collided with the bed on the far side of the room, smacking his side once again. A cry of pain left his lips against his will.
This time Creep managed to get to his feet. The Nail wasn’t going to give him much breathing room, she was already charging at him. There wasn’t a lot of time left to make a move. And yet, in that moment, time seemed to slow down. Creep saw The Nail running, but it seemed as though she was only crawling along. He looked around. There were no weapons that could give him an edge against her. Concetta had backed up into a corner, not cowering, but certainly more interested in her own survival than in his. She would be of no help. He was on his own.
Creep turned back to The Nail. She was still running at him. His eyes ran over her thin form, her mouth wide open with fangs as sharp as shark’s teeth, the stake still sticking out of her chest where someone had tried that age old conventional method on her. And that was it. Creep saw what he needed to do.
As soon as The Nail got close to him, Creep leapt up into the air and kicked out with both feet at her chest. He hit what he was aiming for. The stake in her chest was shoved all the way through. Cold blood and stiff gore shot out through her back in the wake of the wooden spike. Creep fell on his back and The Nail stumbled back.
Creep scrambled to his feet. She wasn’t going to be dazed for long, and he didn’t want to give her any kind of advantage. As she managed to regain her balance, he let loose with a left hook to her jaw. Once again she began to teeter back, her long limbs flailing around trying to ready her for Creep’s next assault. They failed. He launched into her, blow after blow striking her. Countless times his fist met long dead flesh with a sickening smack, and each time it made him smile.
The Nail fell to the floor. She reached up into the air, trying to get up and make an escape, to live to fight another day. She was not to have that; Creep fell upon her. With one hand he held her throat down. With the other one he began to beat her face in. Knuckles already white now turned purple as his blows opened up her face like ripe fruit. Over and over again he let his fist hammer her again, the bloodlust slowly filling up inside of him. She tried to speak, though whether she wished to beg for mercy or to curse him Creep did not know and did not care. Soon she was unable to speak; Creep had smashed her jaw right off.
At last what was dead breathed no more. Creep breathed hard, his chest heaving from the fight. Concetta left her corner and walked near him. With slow deliberate motions he rose to his feet and turned to her. He wanted to say something witty, something sarcastic to get back at her for what she had said to him. But in the end, all he could do was stand there and let the kid in him slowly filter back.
“Well, I was wrong,” Concetta said.
