Strength Of The World (Revised)

The wintry breeze streamed throughout the shadows of the luminous moonlit streets of New York. The nightly sounds of the world never seemed to fade; metal clanking together as the vagrant animals rummaged through the garbage cans lining the streets, glass shattering from attempts of a burglary, and sirens that echoed by the mile as police made an effort to imprison the delinquents in which they could find. Of course I took it upon myself to take care of the ones who assumed they were fortunate enough to escape their crimes.

A quiet moan escaped my throat as I licked the remaining blood from my lips. The lifeless man’s body slipped from my grasp, collapsing onto the earth’s surface as though he were made of mere putty. I placed a cigarette between my lips, turning to rest against the old brick wall that stood tall beside me, bending my leg slightly to position the flat of my foot alongside my knee. He had been a tad feistier than the others I’d killed before. However I wasn’t complaining. I enjoyed toying with my meal before the feast, it helped me to work up a better appetite; and besides, the more adrenaline rushing through their bodies, the better they would taste.

I scanned the surrounding area briefly before letting my gaze fall back upon the man.

“You were absolutely,” I paused, searching for the proper word to use, “scrumptious.”

A smirk played at the corner of my lips and I was far more than satisfied with my kill, or as I so liked to call it, ‘nightly duty’.

Leaning toward his body, I let my hands scan through the man’s various pockets, abstracting any material that could later help police identify him. There was one thing I loved more than the kill itself, and that was leaving a challenge to anyone who wished to identify my victims. It had almost become a game, waiting to see how long it’d take before the news could conclusively state a name release.

“You won’t need this,” I skimmed through his wallet, taking note of one of the first pictures placed inside of what looked like his wife and children, “pig”, I murmured, before tucking his wallet away into my own pocket.

I’d caught this man sexually assaulting a woman in one of the shady back alleys behind my favorite tavern just hours before. He’d stabbed her repeatedly within his attack, leaving her for dead once he was satisfied with what he’d received; I could tell this wasn’t his first assault. I blamed myself for not catching him sooner, saving her from his iniquitous acts. However, I’d dropped her off in front of the local Emergency room in hopes they could save her in time. She’d lost a vast amount of blood, her heart beat so faint it had become hardly audible.

I wrapped my arms securely around his torso, pulling him up over my shoulder before tossing him into a nearby dumpster. Grabbing my jug of fuel, I proceeded to douse his body beneath the fiery liquid, tossing my lit cigarette inside. It didn’t take long before the fuel ignited, flames spewing over the edges of the dumpster. I knew by the time the fire would be extinguished, his body would be far too disfigured for the police to identify him, let alone be able to tell he’d died of an unnatural blood loss due to an exotic bite.

This was my technique, my nightly method in which held so many bewildered. I’d accumulated numerous news clippings from the Sunday paper over the years, most titled with ‘Brooklyn Killings, Suspect Still Unknown’, the others of the victims’ names once they were publicized. I’d even managed to snag some clippings of the few times the police allegedly had new leads, however it was never mentioned again after.

I had learned over the years how to cover my tracks. I’d tried dismembering the bodies, scattering different parts in numerous regions, miles apart, but incinerating the bodies seemed as though it were the most effective way to disguise my work.

Everything I’d learned over time had been self-taught. I have never met another of my kind, though I knew they existed. I knew so for the simple fact that one had not only created me, but murdered my family; the murder that was commonly known as ‘The Salem N.C. Murders’. Many rumors sparked as to what really happened in my small town that night. Some were that I’d been kidnapped, others that I had been killed and my body is yet to be found, which was the closest to the truth. Some even believed that I had killed them myself and ran away, due to the fact that there were no signs of forced entry. However, the truth remained that I’d been murdered, I was dead, yet somehow I managed to find myself awakening, my body yearning for blood. I tried to fight the urges, yet the longer I waited, the more intoxicating the aroma became. I felt as though I were a drug addict in recovery, nauseated, flu like symptoms, migraines, and sweating profusely. It wasn’t long before I found myself becoming weak and was no longer able to fight it. However, I didn’t want to kill an innocent being, I couldn’t, so I did the only reasonable thing I could think of doing. I went on a search that night, pursuing someone who enjoyed bringing pain and suffering to others.

I’ll never forget that first time. The first time blood flowed past my lips; I felt as though I hadn’t drunk in years, and I couldn’t stop. It felt as if fire was rushing within me, a prompt burst of energy rapidly making its way through my veins, my emotions heightening and I felt alive again. It was after that first time that resisting blood became unbearable.

I found myself depressed and infuriated, longing to seek vengeance on the one who’d killed my parents. It was because of them I promised myself I’d never kill the innocent, but rather rid the world of its filth. I didn’t consider myself a murderer, but a hero.

Soon after disposing of the body, I wandered back to my favorite Tavern, ‘The Cubics Corner’. It was in a relatively discrete location and not many knew of its existence. It had been used as a Brothel in the early 1900’s; yet still I find couples using the private rooms nightly, even the occasional prostitutes that had managed to find the place. It was the only place I knew of that I could easily snag my victims.

“Welcome back sweetheart!” Jack, my favorite barkeep, shouted within seconds of entering the room.

A gentle smile formed upon my lips as I leisurely made my way through the booze filled room. Approaching the bar, I crossed my arms, resting against the long wooden counter top. As I leaned forward, I slightly turned my head, allowing him to press his warm lips to my chilled cheek.

Turning to pick up two shot glasses, his eyes remained on me, “how is my favorite lady tonight?”

“I am well,” my gentle smile curved into a grin, watching as he poured my favorite drink, Everclear, into one of the glasses “my dinner tonight was exceptionally delicious.”

He filled the other glass with a favorite of his own, chuckling, “I always said that a good dinner made for a good night.”

I picked up my glass, tilting it toward him as if I were proposing a toast, “and how right you are,” I winked, resting the rim of the glass to my lips, letting my head fall back, allowing the clear liquid to flow down my throat.

As I slammed the glass atop the counter, I scrunched my face, “that is a lot of alcohol,” I commented.

Jack laughed before throwing back his own, placing his glass next to mine. He coughed, refilling my glass once more, “I don’t know how you do it,” he shook his head, pushing the shot glass toward me; “You’re the only reason I order this stuff, because no one else dares to try it.”

Snickering, I tossed back the second shot, slamming it down once more, “what can I say Jack? I’m a one of a kind woman.”

“And a very beautiful one at that,” he complimented, leaving to assist another costumer.

Jack had become the only person close to me since I’d arrived in New York. He’d found me after I’d finished feeding one evening, resting unaccompanied at a bus stop just after midnight to avoid the rain. To him, I appeared to be a runaway teen that had nowhere to go. When he stopped and offered a ride, I assumed he was another man only looking to take advantage of a young innocent girl, yet he quickly proved me wrong. I cooperated with his theory that I was in fact a runaway, and he offered to take me to the nearest shelter; yet I knew if I accepted his offer, my picture would inevitably find its way to others who could easily recognize me and it wasn’t a risk I was willing to take. So I kindly, yet repetitively, declined his offer.

Soon after driving about silently, pondering, he took me to a late night diner where he unlimitedly recommended that I settle in his guest room. Accepting his offer as a human would have been an utterly foolish decision, however I knew I could easily protect myself if need be, so I accepted, and he provided me with free room and board for a few months before aiding me to move into my own apartment where I’ve resided for the past six years.

Even through the years, he never discovered my secret. My late nights out remained a mystery, alongside the money I had acquired over time, yet I never worked. There was a time he questioned if I was selling myself and I couldn’t help but laugh and ignore his curiosity and it was never mentioned again. I kept my bedroom windows covered with plywood, still he never asked. Though he often noted my appearance and how it hadn’t changed since the first night we’d met, but he didn’t persist. I lived my life and he lived his, we were not a bother to one another and our friendship sustained.
I threw back a few more shots before taking a seat at the bar, spinning my chair to face the room. Scanning over the drunkards who I’d become familiar with, I stopped, noting an unknown group of four men who’d entered the tavern. They wore black suits with crimson ties, far too overdressed for a bar, especially one located in one of the most secluded streets of the town. They had stopped just in front of the entrance, scanning over the room as though they were searching for someone.

Looking back toward Jack, I nodded in the direction of the mysterious group of men, “have you ever seen them before?”

He shook his head, shrugging, “They’re probably just passing through,” he paused for a moment, “and by the looks of it, I would guess they accidently ended up on the wrong side of town.”

I continued to watch the men as they studied the room. It wasn’t long before one of the men caught my gaze, pausing for a few seconds as if he were examining me. Without breaking eye contact, he took a small step toward the man in front of him, leaning into his ear. The second man momentarily looked up in my direction, motioning for the others to follow him to a nearby booth. I raised a brow, my curiosity now struck.

Spinning back toward the counter top, I focused into the distance. It seemed as if the men were looking for me, or perhaps they stopped looking once they realized they were being watched. It was my deepest fear, being caught while doing my nightly duty. They were much too overly dressed to just stop in the middle of a rundown street that was lined with the homeless.

“Are you okay?” Jack asked, breaking me of my overly paranoid thoughts, as he filled my small glass once more.

My gaze quickly met his and I chuckled, smiling nervously, “Yes, of course,” I nodded, downing the shot, “I’m exhausted to be honest,” I lied.

I held up my hand in front of the glass before he could pour another round, “That’s all I’d like for now, thank you.”

Without realizing someone had taken a seat beside me, I noticed a crimson cuff with a black suited arm resting on the counter beside me. Casually turning my head toward the man, I allowed my gaze to meet the same man who’d caught me staring before.

“Can I help you?” I questioned, glancing past the man to see the group watching in our direction.

He promptly shook his head as if I’d startled him, “No, my apologies for staring,” his lips curved into a smile, “you’re just so stunning.”

He spoke with an unfamiliar accent, I could tell immediately he wasn’t from around here or anywhere near for that matter. He spoke as if he’d stepped out of the seventeen hundreds and into the modern day.

“The name’s Javier,” he extended his hand toward me and I couldn’t help but to catch a glimpse of a small tattoo extending from beneath his cuff. A pyramid with the letter ‘S’ placed inside.

“Angel,” I replied, ignoring his friendly gesture.

His eyebrows creased from what I presumed to be frustration, the corner of his lip twitching into a straight line; however his newly formed posture faded back into his once again smitten stance.

Repositioning his arm atop the counter, he waved toward Jack to catch his attention.

“My fellow friends and I have unfortunately become lost in this immense city of yours,” he stated, pointing toward a full bottle of Tequila, “We don’t see a reason as to why we’d be in a rush to flee the town tonight. So how about a few drinks for my friends and I,” he paused, shooting a glance toward me, “and for the lady, of course.”

Jack observed me briefly, searching for any outward annoyance for the new situation; yet my appearance remained emotionless.

Javier twisted in his chair to face his group of friends, using a single finger to point toward them, “We’d love for you to join us for a drink.”

“Thank you for the offer, but I--,” I began, before being rudely interrupted.

“Please, I promise you won’t regret it,” he insisted.

I looked past him at the same group of men who’d been watching us since he’d sat beside me.

“As I said,” I began, locking eyes once more, “Thank you for the offer, but it is getting late and I should be going.”

Before he was able speak, I placed my feet flat against the floor, making my way toward the taverns exit. I could feel their eyes burning through me as I made my way across the room and it wasn’t long before I could hear someone following closely behind.

“Just join us, for one drink,” Javier’s voice flowed through the air and I felt his hand wrap around my forearm.

I became still, closing my eyes temporarily as I inhaled deeply to control my annoyance. Exhaling, I opened my eyes, turning to find him standing no further than two inches away. I tugged my arm roughly from his grasp and took a small step closer.

“Just in case you didn’t hear me the first time,” I began, struggling to keep under control, “I said thank you for the offer, but it is late, and I’m ready to leave.”

“No, I don’t believe you heard me,” he started, forcefully taking a hold of my wrist, jerking me slightly closer, “I asked you to join us for a drink, and I would advise you doing so.” His once polite tone had turned to a more aggressive one.

Letting out a single cynical chuckle, I took a small step back, pulling my arm free of his grasp once more. Without much thought as to who was around or to who may have been watching, I bent my arm, drawing it back before ever so slightly before swiftly striking his nose with my elbow. The sounds of his crushing bones echoed throughout the tavern and everyone had become silent. He grumbled, hastily covering his nose as blood began to gush from his new wound. The group of men tensed, but remained seated, now glowering in our direction.

I pressed my lips to his ear, a malicious smile playing at the corner of my mouth, “I wouldn’t advise you touching me again.”

Looking back toward Jack, I couldn’t help but laugh to myself. He’d been cleaning the same glass since the confrontation had begun, shaking his head, knowing what the man’s fate would be. This wasn’t the first time I’d become physical with someone who couldn’t grasp the concept of, don’t touch me.

“Enjoy your evening Jack, I believe I will call this a night,” I spoke through the room that was still filled with silence, the ones watching dumbfounded by my actions.

“Have a good night.” Jack chuckled as I exited the Tavern.

I placed a cigarette between my lips as I made my way through the empty streets; my mind overflowing with what seemed to be a million thoughts. Those men could have been a number of people and not knowing who was bothersome. Perhaps he’d been telling the truth about becoming lost and stopping for a drink. It wasn’t the first time strangers had stopped in and offered to buy me a beer. However something struck me as odd about them, the way they dressed, the way they carried themselves, and ultimately the way he spoke. Someone could’ve easily been watching me as I performed my nightly duties and they finally found a moment to strike. I knew if anyone figured out my secret, I’d be killed, though to me, it wouldn’t be fair. Death just didn’t seem reasonable for the simple fact that I was unwilling made into what I am today.

The thought of truly dying frightened me. I had never been much of a believer of anything that seemed supernatural while human. Satan, God, it never made much sense to me. How could one being, God, that you never see, control so much at once? And how could one man create so much evil upon the earth so easily? I enjoyed the thought more so of a fairytale that parents used on their kids so they’d behave. But after all I’d been through, I quickly realized that someone, somewhere out there did exist. If something so evil such as to what I was created existed, then there had to be a higher, wholesome being, along with someone to counteract with it. I could feel it, every time I took someone’s life, even though I consider what I do a favor to the world around me. Every life I execute, I’d sense that a part of my soul was being denigrated. In the beginning it was mentally challenging, knowing I was bringing an end to so many lives, no matter how ruthless the person seemed to be. Yet overtime, it became as effortless, as easy as remembering to breathe.
After grinding the cigarette between the dirt and my heel, I proceeded up the steps of my apartment. It was one of the nicer complexes and you never found too many groups of the poor roaming around begging for money or sifting through the garbage for scraps of food.

When I approached my small green apartment door labeled with the number eight, I paused, unexpected sounds rising from inside. Slowly turning the knob, I took a few steps in, promptly scanning over the room. I briefly caught a shadowing in the opening of my bedroom before the sound of glass shattering reverberated from the room, startling me. Silently, I made my way toward the bedroom, preparing myself for whatever may be inside. I placed my hand against the door frame, taking smaller steps as I anxiously entered the tiny room, only to find it empty.

I took note of a small picture frame face down on the floor that had fallen from my nightstand, small pieces of glass surrounding it. While making my way to the frame, another piercing sound of shattering glass clattered from behind me. Furrowing my brows, I darted into the living room, looking over at my newly half opened window with glass lying just below it. I placed my hands on the window seal, leaning out in hopes to see whoever had escaped my home. Nothing could be seen for miles, anything, until I heard the sounds of a cat’s meow coming from below the ledge.

“Did you do this?” I growled in annoyance; I had never cared much for animals.

The orange and white cat concisely looked up at me before sprinting off into the darkness.

Shutting my newly broke window, I grumbled, “Stupid cat.”

I made my way back into the bedroom to clean up the small mess the cat had left behind. Bending over to pick up the little wooden picture frame, I stopped, looking at the picture that remained intact. It was a picture of my parents and me, when I was younger, probably around the age of six. We were at the beach and just as the picture was being taken, I leaned back out of my father’s arms. The sudden look of horror on my parents face was priceless and I was smiling away.

A single tear rolled off my cheek and I chuckled, placing the picture back on my nightstand; brushing the small shards of glass into a pile with my hand.

With not much else to do beside drown in my own thoughts, I closed my door, hanging a thick black sheet to block the sun from seeping in through the cracks.

Crawling into bed, I looked over at the picture one last time, a gentle smile playing on my lips.

“Goodnight, I love you guys,” I whispered, closing my eyes.

Just as I’d become comfortable, my eyes flew open and I sat up in bed. My fan had been making a small piece of paper ruffle together atop my dresser. Throwing the blankets aside, I flipped on the lights, picking up the paper between my fingers, unfolding its’ edges. In bold lettering that sent chills throughout me, it read, “We know who you are, Angel.”