Catharsis (Book 3): Catastrophe Page 14

  Settling back into the camouflage the grouping of trees provides, I watch the game unfold. It’s relaxing, and even enjoyable, to watch people without having to worry about how they’re about to hurt others or how I might have to hurt them or how their very existence might be contributing to the ruination of the world. These are just a bunch of dudes playing a game and enjoying themselves. Their joy is almost contagious. I can feel it pouring off of them in waves and flowing outwards even to where I’m hiding. It’s a pleasant diversion from what I normally do when I’m out.

  “Maybe I should take more breaks like this,” I whisper to the tree trunks surrounding me. “Might help keep me connected to who I am,” I say before pausing and then thinking about what I just said. “Or at least who I was.”

  I know I need to get out and find a food source for the evening, but the joy of just sitting and watching is too much to pass up. I can feel the Hunger tickling at me, but it isn’t enough to push the issue just yet.

  As I watch a group of the men drive the ball up the court while shouting at each other, I begin to wonder how I would do at something like this now. I never really played basketball much in school as my main outlets of energy were either soccer or Krav Maga with my dad. Basketball was a set of skills I never really took the time to learn, nor did I think I really had the ability for it. But now? Now I wonder if I could single-handedly take on the entire group. Even not having practiced before, I doubt the putting of that little orange ball through that hoop would be any more challenging than when I’ve had to knock somebody unconscious while they charged at me in any one of my numerous battles. Plus, the pressure on me here would be ridiculously non-existent. Normally, if I don’t succeed with a throw then the consequences involve a large, angry man trying to strangle me to death. Miss a shot here, and I just relinquish possession to the other team. I wish all my confrontations had stakes on that level.

  Suddenly one of the larger guys who I’d noticed looked like a small, midnight-shaded Hulk screams and knocks me out of my reverie. Looking up, I see him swatting the ball out of the hands of a much thinner man who had been attempting to dunk the ball into the net. The combined momentum of the two men slamming into each other gets focused into the ball, and the little orange globe shoots up and away from them like an air-filled rocket. Away from them, and directly towards my little nest of trees that’s been so kindly hiding me.

  “Ugh,” I grumble upon realizing that I can’t stay where I am and avoid being seen. The last thing I want now is to be noticed by them and then accused of being a creeper. I may not know them or have to worry about ever seeing them again, but there’s still enough humanity left in me to be bothered by that judgment. No one wants to be “that person” even if it’s an assessment that occurs by people you don’t even know. Especially when the assessment is based in a bit of fact. Technically, I have been creeping. I just had valid reasons for it.

  “I’m moving, I’m moving,” I say and start to scoot backwards as I watch the bigger of the two guys come trotting towards the woods in order to retrieve the ball that’s rolled down here. “Nothing good comes from us meeting,” I begin and then stop, because actually something good would come from us meeting. I’d almost forgotten why I was in the park in the first place.

  I need to feed, and this robust looking fellow would be a perfect meal. Large, healthy and incredibly fit. He would barely even miss the blood I need to pull from him. He might be a bit woozy for a bit, and his basketball game will take a hit tonight, but I’d be hard pressed to find a better supplier.

  As I watch him jog towards me, I notice the other guys on the court have mostly turned their backs in our direction as they all start picking up bottles of water or Gatorade during the break. Most of them aren’t even paying attention, let alone looking in this direction. And as I had noticed earlier, his skin color does almost blend in with the surrounding night. He’s already going to be hard for them to see. I just have to make it quick and as silent as possible.

  Quietly edging towards my prey, I tap into just enough of the Darkness to ensure I stay completely silent and help prepare my muscles for the quick exertion I know to be coming. The ball had rolled only a few feet into the copse of trees before the tall grass slowed it enough to stop it, but by moving quickly I’m able to get up to the largest tree near where the guy will be stepping. The tree isn’t thick enough to completely hide my body, but it should mask it enough to prevent him from realizing I’m there until it’s too late. And that is all the time I’ll need.

  As soon as the man steps into the grass and bends to reach for the ball a mere couple of feet from me, I step out from behind the tree without saying a word. I register his head turning my way when he notices my movement, but it doesn’t move far enough, or quickly enough, to take in a full view. All he’ll see is darkness and a shape, and then nothing.

  Although my brain has already classified him as “prey”, I have no desire to kill him. He’s innocent as far as I know, and he doesn’t deserve to die. But I also need him unconscious as quickly as possible. My moves may come across as violent to an outside observer, but that is not my intent. Speed is my friend here, and sometimes that simply just doesn’t translate well. Stepping directly in front of the man while his head is still down but slowly turning, I plant my feet in front of him and dig my fingers into his shoulder blades to firm up my grip as much as I can. Arching my back with the expected strain, I then buck backwards and lift him straight up and off the ground. The momentum causes his arms to flare out to his sides like he’s freefalling from an airplane for just a moment, and then with a muted grunt I slam him back into the earth with enough force to knock the air out of his lungs with an explosive whuff.

  Stepping back, I pull him deeper into the forest so that I can’t be seen by any of the others back on the court. Anyone who may have been watching this man a moment ago may have seen “something”, but they’ll never be able to exactly put it into words. I’m hoping they’ll convince themselves that he just tripped. It was just one of those rare trips that happens to send a grown man six feet into the air before violently smashing him back down to the earth. Maybe unlikely, but at least plausible. Hopefully more plausible than him being attacked by a voraciously hungry five-foot tall Hispanic girl who makes a home in the night.

  As soon as he’s next to the tree that had hidden me previously, I flip him over and listen to the wheeze as he tries to suck air back into his startled lungs. His eyes are blinking rapidly, but I don’t think he’s really seeing anything around him. Or if he is seeing anything, his brain is most likely trying to convince him it can’t possibly be what he thinks it is.

  Bending down, I gently lick his neck on the carotid artery and feel its jumpy pulse just below the skin.

  “Yum,” I hiss quietly and bite into it and relish the rush of energy that flows from him into me. His feet kick a bit at my bite, and then they settle as I pull from him. I don’t know why my feeding seems to calm my victims, but it does. It’s not something I question anymore. Some chemical in my saliva prevents their desire to fight me, and I couldn’t be more thankful for it.

  After almost a dozen swallows, I listen as the man’s breathing settles and becomes more regular. It’s tempting to keep feeding here until there is no more to feed from, but that would be fatal. The deep red liquid pouring forth from him is delicious, though, and it’s a force of will to pull myself away and dab my tongue at the wound until it closes.

  The entire attack has lasted less than ten seconds. That’s one of the benefits of using the carotid artery in the neck. It pumps fast and strong, and tapping into it is incredibly efficient. That ten seconds may be insanely speedy for what I’ve been able to accomplish, but it’s also plenty of time for the other guys back on the court to realize this man has been gone too long.

  “Hey, Southside!” one of the men hollers from up on the court. “Whachu doin’ man? Come on. We ain’t got all night.”

  “Maybe he has to pee,” anothe
r offers up and laughs.

  “Nah, after our last game Imma willin’ to bet he’s hidin’ down there in shame,” a different kid adds.

  No one seems to realize what happened or what is going on, so I take that as a good sign and slowly slip backwards through the trees leaving the man they called Southside lying on the leaves and blinking up at the stars uncomprehendingly.

  As I step away from the far side of the trees, I can tell the men have started to come down the hill towards their friend. People will be confused, and someone may get made fun of later, but overall no one got hurt. I’m going to chalk that one up as a success. I can only hope the rest of the evening goes just as well.

  “One down and maybe three more to go,” I say and turn to jog across the open grass towards what looks to be a small lake.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  In the deepening dark of the night, the water almost appears to be a parking lot in the night. It’s a smooth, flat expanse of earth devoid of any trees or growth. The only clues separating it from abandoned pavement are the lack of cars and streetlights, and the reflection of the nearly full moon off its gently rippling water. It’s a beautiful sight to witness, and I wish I had more time to take it in.

  As I cross one of the many paved running paths I’ve noticed in the park, a movement off to my left nips at my attention. It’s a person, a jogger, running away and off down the trail. An instinctive urge to take off and follow them for my next meal kicks up as I watch the form move, but then something in the form and stride slows me down. The jogger is a woman. A young woman who’d I guess to be in her early twenties, and she looks incredibly fit.

  That’s not who I want as a source of food. It has nothing to do with being afraid of the struggle or even a sexist view that women shouldn’t be fed upon. I’ve used females as a source of meals many times in the past, and it hasn’t bothered me. But young girls? And especially athletic girls who seem to be happy or have their life together? Attacking a person like that just seems…weird. Like it’d be attacking a version of myself. If it can at all be avoided, then it is. I have enough mental anguish in my life without adding this kind of anxiety to it.

  With a small, almost imperceptible, sigh of jealousy as I watch the girl jog happily away down the path I keep my eyes on her until she disappears over a small hill.

  “Oh, what could my life have been like?” I wonder and then try to shake the melancholy away as best as I can. But then instead of erasing the image of the girl, I realize I can use her. Why not imitate her until I’m able to locate more suitable prey. A person out jogging here is fairly inconspicuous, and it’s probably a better disguise for me than just creeping around in the woods and hoping to not be seen.

  Pulling my sweatshirt’s hood up over my head, I take off in the same direction in which I had watched the girl disappear earlier. Keeping my pace slow and steady, I sweep the area with my eyes looking for anybody that might work for what I need. But instead of my eyes alerting me to something of interest, it’s my nose instead.

  After jogging for several minutes without incident down the trail, the wind brings with it the faint scent of something unusual. I can’t immediately place it aside from knowing that it’s connected to a person, and it’s intriguing. Even after all this time with my abilities, I still can’t always figure out how my own brain is working. What has gotten my attention is the scent of a person, and it’s a person that definitely deserves more investigation. The problem is I can’t figure out why. I just know that it would be best if I do.

  Without arguing with my senses, I lean my head back and inhale as much of the air as I can to help me locate in which direction I should go. Whatever it is I’m picking up isn’t very strong, though, and it takes several more minutes of me walking around and huffing out air through my lungs before I can determine a general direction.

  East. Away from the lake and off the park’s many jogging paths.

  “Ok,” I tell the night air around me. “Sure, why not? Let’s go check it out.”

  Following the scent in the air takes me across one of the several open grassy plains in the park. Normally, in the daylight hours, this area would be packed with people on picnic blankets, kids flying kites or guys throwing Frisbees for yappy little dogs. But right now? It’s just a large unlit and desolate emptiness of the park. It’d almost be creepy if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m pretty sure I’m the scariest thing in the neighborhood.

  Halfway across the grass, my eyes pick up a detail I hadn’t paid attention to before. A man. There’s a man in front of me. Well, not right in front of me, but on the other side of the space I’m crossing. I hadn’t noticed him earlier because he’s sitting down on a park bench with his back to me. All I can see is his head reflecting the dull glow of the light pole above where he’s sitting. He’s just sitting there and not moving. And he’s also, I notice, in the same direction of the scent I’m picking up.

  “Ok,” I say again. “This is definitely a bit weird. Is he what I’m picking up? Guy sitting on a bench in a park at night? It may be creepy, but still…” I let the thought trail off as I continue my jog towards him. I slow up a bit to make sure I prioritize “lack of sound” over “speed”. His not hearing me is much more important than my arriving quickly.

  When I’m still about twenty yards behind him and he hasn’t moved, I slow my pace even more. Studying him as best as I can from this angle, all I can see is that he doesn’t appear to be overweight or very old. I’d say he’s somewhere in his mid-thirties, maybe a bit younger, and he has a full head of thick hair that’s been combed to one side. And his head is leaning forward. I’m guessing he’s looking down at something, but I can’t figure out what it might be. Or why it’s kept his attention this whole time.

  Aside from that, I can see he’s wearing jeans, a dark jacket and tennis shoes.

  Nothing about this man seems to match with the scent that brought me here, but whatever it was that tickled my nose before has gotten stronger the closer I’ve crept to him. He’s the source of it. I just can’t quite figure out what that “it” is, yet.

  Crouching low into the short, cut grass, I wait and I watch, but nothing changes. Every minute or so it appears his right arm moves slightly, but it is a miniscule movement and the bench and his body block my view of what it might connect to.

  Nothing else changes. The reek that attracted me continues to roll off of him in waves. He doesn’t get up from the bench. And his movements never increase from the slight, occasional jiggle of the arm I noticed before.

  “Ok,” I say for the third time in a whisper. “I don’t get it. What brought me over here?”

  Nothing answers me, though, except for the slow passage of time, so I decide to change my view to see if that helps. Backing up slightly, I move off and to my left and around in a circle until I am well away from the island of light that surrounds the man and his bench. I scooch backwards through the darkness until I find a large tree along the path that I’m able to shimmy my way towards without bringing attention to myself.

  Getting into a standing position while keeping my body hidden behind the trunk, I peek around it to look at the man again.

  A book! He’s reading a book. Of course he is. That makes so much sense now that I can see him, and it easily explains his head and arm movements. If I hadn’t been so suspicious earlier, then I’m sure I could have figured it out.

  Well, the book explains his movements, but it doesn’t even begin to explain his scent. I find it hard to imagine any book that could cause a person to kick out such a powerful smell. A smell strong enough to pull me towards them from several hundred yards away. What could possibly be in that book to invoke that kind of a reaction?

  And I realize I have no idea. Aside from walking up and sitting down next to him and asking, I don’t think there is a solution that would work. I can’t read the title of the book from where I am, and the way he’s holding it on his lap would prevent me from seeing the title even if I walked past
him or got up close.

  Plus, he isn’t doing anything. At least nothing interesting. Or anything that would make him deserving of my attention. And, yet, here I am…standing behind a tree in the middle of the night watching a man read a book on a bench in the middle of the park.

  Instead of going out and hunting like I should be doing.

  That thought brings me back to what my original goal was supposed to be before I was distracted. I’m supposed to be feeding. Not watching boring park visitors catch up on their library lists.

  Maybe I should just feed on him? Then I could figure out the name of the book without a problem. Have Ren get me a copy of it, and then I’ll read it myself to see what’s so special about…

  My thoughts come to an abrupt halt as my ears pick up two things almost simultaneously.

  The man’s heartrate has increased exponentially. And his breathing has become quick and shallow.

  And from farther away, past the man and down the path to the North, I can hear the steady footfalls of someone running.

  If I hadn’t been so caught up in my thoughts and distractions, then I’m sure I would have noticed them sooner, but I was busy keeping my own attention elsewhere. And I was doing it so effectively, I almost missed something important.

  Moving myself lower on the tree in an attempt to conceal my body as much as possible, I focus on Bench Man and tune my senses to every fiber of his being and I watch as the scene unfolds. Within moments, a person jogging along the path appears from behind a line of trees and moves towards where the both of us are. Their path will not only take them directly past the man sitting and reading on the bench, but also, seconds later, right past my tree.

  The jogger, it turns out, is the woman I had watched and dismissed earlier. It isn’t much of a coincidence as I’m guessing there aren’t many people using the park for exercise at this time of night, so the chances of it being someone else are slim. I didn’t want to feed on her earlier, and I still don’t, but if she sees me as she runs past and freaks out then that may force me to forfeit my vote.