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When Geoffry next awoke, the setting sun provided just enough light to illuminate the carnage Imastious had left in the apartment. The pale, unbroken expanse of skin on Geoffry's chest was nearly enough to convince him he'd somehow imagined being tortured for hours. Turning the lights on proved otherwise.
His sheets were drenched in an almost unimaginable amount of dried blood. Horrified by the suffering they represented, Geoffry turned away only to find additional evidence that everything had happened just as he remembered it. Results of Imastious' handiwork left in the corner made him gag, and bury his face in hands that were every bit as bloodstained as they had been the night before.
How long was I asleep? Even if it had been long enough to heal, there'd still be scars. She's dead. That part at least is terribly real.
Geoffry felt a rising sense of terror as he realized that he couldn't trust his mind. Maybe some kind of memory distorting drug?
The sound of voices outside in the hall sent Geoffry into a near panic. It is only a matter of time until someone starts looking for her. If she's found here, they'll lock me up. They'd lock me up even without this.
The decision to leave the apartment brought with it a strange pocket of calm that just allowed Geoffry to start planning ahead. A shower, new clothes. Have to find a way out of the city.
During the trip to the bus stop Geoffry couldn't escape the feeling that everyone he passed was watching him. It seemed as if everyone that looked at him knew his guilt. The stress of trying to watch for people following him, without looking completely paranoid sent him into shakes before he'd even made it halfway.
Not long now, just a few more blocks. I'll board a bus and disappear into some small town where nobody will ever link me to any of this.
While still a block from the bus station, Geoffry heard sirens and felt his already nauseous stomach drop. Not just one, but three cars. The officers are watching each passenger board the bus.
A tiny rational part of Geoffry's mind couldn't believe the police could possibly have discovered the corpse in his apartment so quickly, but the feeling that he was in great danger was so strong that his vision started to tunnel. They know, somehow they know. They'll recognize me.
Geoffry turned into a side street, as calmly as he was able, and then as soon as he was out of sight broke into a stumbling run. People really were looking at him now, but it no longer mattered, nothing mattered as much as getting away from the bus station, away from the cops who would surely shoot him on sight.
By the time rational though returned, Geoffry was in Spanish Harlem, and his obvious panic was starting to draw hostile stares from the few people still walking the streets at such a late hour. There, the subway. There has to be somewhere down there to hide, at least for long enough to think of another way out of the city, a way that the police won't be watching.
The subway platform was completely deserted, but Geoffry still felt incredibly self-conscious as he climbed down onto the tracks, carefully avoiding the lethal third rail.
A few short steps brought Geoffry into the welcoming darkness, calming him slightly as he realized that he'd made it to a form of safety. For the next half an hour Geoffry's only companions were the rats he could faintly hear scurrying across the tracks.
As acute as Geoffry's night vision apparently was, he still nearly missed the faint outline of the door to the service tunnels. The doorknob didn't turn, but someone had forced the lock so that the door swung freely open when pushed.
The area behind the door was even blacker than the subway tunnel. Geoffry crept very cautiously, hands outstretched in an effort to detect any obstacles. Following the wall for thirty or forty paces brought Geoffry around two corners, and as he found a third he realized that it was getting brighter.
Walking more quickly as the visibility improved, Geoffry realized he'd found some kind of central hub from which a number of service corridors branched out to provide access for this portion of the subway tunnels.
By the look of the trash all over the floor and the graffiti on the walls, I'm not the first person to find my way down here, but at least most of the lights are still on. It isn't the classiest place, but it should be relatively safe while I try to figure out what to do next.
**
Geoffry was shaking again, but more violently than before, violently enough that his feet were making noise against the floor. Quiet, I need to be quiet. Can't remember why though. The lights were still on, but for some reason Geoffry was having a hard time seeing. Blurry. Why is everything so blurry? How long have I been down here? Hours? Days? I can't remember that either, maybe weeks, my memories are as blurry as my vision, but I know I have to stay down here until they stop looking for me.
The sound of feet dragging somewhere nearby seemed to confirm Geoffry's worry that the noise he was making would draw unwelcome attention, but the thought couldn't seem to generate any force.
“Who the hell are you?”
The voice was strangely clear, the sound apparently unaffected by whatever was interfering with Geoffry's other senses. Where is it coming from?
“I asked you a question cracker.”
The raw anger in the voice seemed to demand a response. Geoffry somehow found the strength to move his head slowly from side to side until a dark, fuzzy mass appeared in his field of vision.
Geoffry opened his mouth to respond, but found his train of thought interrupted by rough hands that were pulling him to his feet. His efforts to help the hands seemed surprisingly ineffectual, and Geoffry found himself slightly displeased by the weak way in which his legs flailed at the floor.
“How does a yuppie addict like you get down here?”
The hands shook Geoffry, but suddenly he found himself oddly drawn to them, it was if they gave off a warming heat, while at the same time singing a slow, two-note song.
I've never used drugs, except for whatever it is that Imastious feeds me to mess with my mind. Angry at the man's accusations, and becoming unsettled by a growing sense of things being wrong, Geoffry's thoughts became lucid enough for him to try and free himself. Vague thoughts of breaking the man's arm if necessary accompanied the motion, but he was too weak, hardly able to raise his arms, let alone exert enough violent force to actually win free.
The rough grip suddenly pulled Geoffry closer so that the dark form took up nearly his whole field of vision.
“It don't matter how you made it down here, what matters is that you, your wallet and your fancy clothes won't be making it back up to the surface.”
The hands holding Geoffry shifted to his neck, and then suddenly clamped down with incredible power.
Unable to breath, Geoffry tried to shake off the weights that seemed to be slowing his thoughts, but nearly his full attention seemed drawn to the hot breath that teased at his face as his attacker leaned in to better watch him die.
The throbbing was louder now, just beyond reach as it called to Geoffry, resonating with a hunger that he hadn't realized he was feeling.
The blurry tunnel that was one of Geoffry's last ties to the physical world was shrinking rapidly, when he suddenly felt his arms dart out with the strength that had been eluding him. A sharp pain flashed across Geoffry's forehead, and then suddenly he was falling as if in slow motion, drawing his first breath in far too long.
That lone breath was suddenly forced out of Geoffry's chest as he landed, crushing something lumpy beneath his weight. The drumming was still seductively calling for Geoffry, now faster than before. Something warm splashed across his face before his mouth captured the flow, directing it down into his bruised body.
As blackness returned to claim Geoffry, the drumming grew quieter and he felt an irrational anger that it would desert him.
**
Geoffry looked up into a pair of soft brown eyes and felt a wave of pure contentment flow through him. The eyes belonged to a gentle face that happened to be smiling at him from behind a thin veil of long, dark hair.
Geoffry smiled back, content with his full stomach and the heat of the wood fire reaching out from behind to envelope him in warmth.
Somehow Geoffry's point of view had changed, leaving him standing in the other corner of the still indistinct room. A sound which strangely Geoffry knew existed even though he couldn't hear it, brought his head around enough to see a familiar figure setting places at a rough wooden table. Another silent sound, one that seemed to issue from Geoffry caused the lithe figure to turn, revealing the same beautiful face that Geoffry had smiled at just moments before.
It wasn't until Geoffry had taken a few steps towards the girl that he realized how she'd changed in those brief minutes, growing taller and loosing the childish roundness that had graced her face previously.
With a mischievous grin the girl walked across the small room to meet Geoffry halfway, reaching into the pocket of her apron to fish out a small, dark object he'd been wanting for hours.
The scene started to fade as the room trembled and shook. Geoffry rolled over in an attempt to distance himself from the source of the noise pulling him away from the warm room, but an abrupt collision completed the unwanted transition into wakefulness.
It felt too real to be nothing more than a dream. I almost expect to be able to open my eyes and see her standing there again.
For a brief moment Geoffry felt an intense hatred for Imastious. Anger over never being able to have a normal life momentarily peaked and then faded away. Geoffry opened his eyes to surroundings much different than the modest apartment he'd been expecting.
Looking at the filth-covered room, quickly brought back the vague, almost dreamlike memories of being attacked, as well as the spray of warmth that had splashed across his face. Geoffry suddenly felt sick as he noticed the stiff, crusty feeling covering his face and neck.
A shaking hand came back dotted with a fine dusting of dried blood, and Geoffry nearly vomited. I can't deny it anymore, I was drinking blood, just like I've wanted to for days now. Not only do I kill people, I get some kind of sick thrill from draining them dry.
The knowledge that he was just as bad as Venice and Imastious had implied seemed to tear at Geoffry's mind, leaving no room for rational thought, no room for anything more than the need to get away. Geoffry stumbled back into the darkness, chased by the knowledge that this murder was undeniably his fault.
**
Geoffry had been moving for hours, stopping only long enough to clean the worst of the blood off of himself before quartering the city in an effort to find something. I don't know what I'm looking for, but I can feel the same kind of pull that I felt just before I walked into that church. Geoffry briefly considered visiting the priest, but shied away from the thought of trying to meet the gaze of someone so undeniably good after what he'd done.
It wasn't until Geoffry had traveled all the way to the tip of the island and back a significant distance that he felt a distinct tug which gave him a definite direction in which to head. Some fifteen minutes later Geoffry found himself before a large cathedral.
Walking up to the front doors, Geoffry found a sign labeling the building the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine. I can't imagine a church more different than the last one I entered, but something seems to be drawing me to churches, I feel almost as safe here as I did in the other building.
For all that Geoffry did feel somewhat more calm, the thought of what he'd done just a few hours before was enough to stop him from talking to anyone let alone seeking out a priest. Instead the young man slipped around one of the velvet cordons meant to discourage visitors from exploring the less-public areas of the church, and quietly made his way down a set of stairs that lead to the basement areas.
This somehow feels right, but the rightness of it if anything feels unnatural; I shouldn't be feeling this good about being here after what I've done.
Wandering through the complex of infrequently used, but still richly-furnished rooms, Geoffry finally found a dark corner where he'd be safe.
Geoffry suddenly realized that he was exhausted, but even after sitting down with his back to the wall, and making himself as comfortable as he was able, sleep proved elusive. His mind, no longer fixated on pursuing the need that had brought him here, seemed to fill with an incredible array of thoughts.
What happened to me? It was like time stopped, and then I awoke weak, unable to control myself, and killed to satiate the hunger. No, I could have controlled myself. Trying to believe anything else is nothing more than a lie designed to try and shirk my guilt.
As Geoffry's eyes once again grew heavy, his thoughts settled down, returning to one question. Why does all of this seem less important than my dream? How can a dream possibly feel so real? If it was somehow real who was she?