Tears of Blood

Prolouge: Blood







A constant drizzling of rain peppered an everyday suburban street. Everyone stayed in the warmth of their homes, not daring to go out in the elements. Everyone except Jerod Crow. He raised his head to the sky, letting the cool rain fall upon his ashen face. Long, windswept hair clung to Jerod’s skull, with snow-white bangs matted down on his forehead. For nearly an hour, this exquisetly dressed man stood out in the rain, getting soaked to the bone. He probably would’ve stood there all day, when his phone rang. The white-haired enigma answered his phone curtly, “This had better be good, I was in the middle of my personal time.”

The voice on the other-end of the receiver sounded mortified, “I’m sorry to interrupt sir, but the assignment you gave me. The one to monitor the news for a specific kind of bulletin? I’ve just watched the perfect one. I-I thought that it’d be appropriate to call…’

Jerod Crow’s smile could’ve made a crocodile shiver, “Very good, you did right to interrupt. Make the proper arrangements, and I will meet you at headquarters.

“yessir!”

Jerod began to stroll down the street, singing one of his favorite songs:

“Well. They. Encourage your complete cooperation

Send you roses when they think you need smile

I can’t control myself because I don’t know how

Why they love me for it, honestly I’ll be here for a while

So give them blood, blood, gallons of the stuff

Give them all that they drink and it will never be enough

So give them blood, blood, bloooo-ood

Grab a glass because there’s going to be a flood

A celebrated man amongst the gurney

They can fix me proper with a bit of luck

The doctors and the nurses they adore me so

But its really quite alarming, ‘casue I’m such and awful f******ck (oh thank you)

I gave you, blood, blood, gallons of the stuff

I gave you all that you can drink and it has never been enough.

I gave you blood, blood, blooooo-oood

I’m the kind of human wreckage that you love!”



         Jerod Crow was having a very good day.



CHAPTER 1: I DEVISE MY OWN DEMISE







         Michael King looked at the clock and couldn’t have sighed any louder. His teacher gave him one of her famous, “If you don’t shut up I’ll boot you out of my class” looks. He didn’t care, if he failed, he failed. And besides, he reasoned, its not my fault if the bitch gets anal about any and all of the tiniest noises.

Mike was a senior at Alexander the Great High, the best high school in all of Neo America. knew about the history of the name. Who didn’t? Of course, the only reason that America had any claim to the name Alexander the Great was because of the Hegemon, despite the claims of impartiality. Everyone with a brain in their skulls could see that the former Neo Japan senator, Akira Maeda, was only tall when he stood on his wallet, courtesy of the American government. It was only a matter of time before the bueracrats running the US government buy their way into Hegemony, and satisfy their dreams of Manifest Destiny, which they feel deprived of apparently.

         Mike heard his name and jerked his head up, annoyed at being torn from his thoughts. “Well Mike, I’m glad you could join us after such an interesting trip in your mind. Perhaps you could tell me the answer to the problem up on the board. Or maybe you’d like to teach the whole chapter to the class, seeing that its only algebra.” The bitch-teacher from Hell spat out a a line that had probably been rehearsed.

         Well, I might as well. I mean, she offered. Now she’ll get whatever comes out these particular gates of hell she has opened. Mike rose from his seat, slowly at first, seeming to be reluctant. Then strode, calmly toward the front of the class. “Basically, all you need to know about the foil method is this. It’s a cheap way to multiply two different sets of algebraic sentences. It gets tedious after a while, even if it’s the fastest. Only because you’ll have to repeat this method over and over again until our ever-so-wonderful teacher thinks you can do it on your own like big girls and boys. There’s no real use for it in real life unless you decide to become a half-bit teacher like our beloved Ms. Hall”

         Mike walked calmly back to his desk, allowing both the class, and Ms. Hall a moment to digest all of the information he had just given them. He knew that he wouldn’t make it to the end of class without Ms. I-know-I’m-dumb-and-don’t-like-it-so-I-act-like-a-bitch-to-cover-for-it, giving him a detention for some half-assed reason. He just felt he should give her a slightly better cause for punishment. He knew she hated him. Hated that he came back to a lesser math class Senior year, hated him for being smart, for being smarter than her. She hated him for being better at her job than she was. But Mike knew that she knew it was her own fault. That he was smarter than her because she had probably cheated her way through college. But that didn’t matter to him. Hate was hate, and he had his ways of coping with it. The only thing that distubed him anymore was himself. His hair was ragged, his clothes torn in a few places, his eyes had permanent bags under them. He wasn’t fat, but he wasn’t lean or trim. His was boney, skin stretch over undernourished muscles, but he wasn’t anorexic either. He never seemed to get any larger, no matter how much he ate. He once ate so much, he ended up kneeling over the toilet for almost two days, throwing up the excess food. The oddest thing was, he never seemed to run out of energy. Mike could pull and all-nighter with his best friends, and still be well enough to win every race in gym the next day.

         So with all of the weirdness in his life, a detention didn’t mean anything. The rest of the hour passed in complete silence, the mood of the room itself felt like could erupt into flame at any instant. And sure enough, as soon as the bell rang, Ms. Hall had him stay after class for his punishment. Of course, her horribly worded lecture was more than enough punishment in itself: “I’m very dissipointed in your behavior in class to day Michael. What prompted you to say such things? Did you think it was funny? Did you say those things to seem cool? Well let me tell you something, a Senior in a Freshman math class has no chance of being “cool”. That’s a fact.” She added the last bit with what Mike assumed was a venomous tone, “Now as for your punishment, I think that an all-day Saturday detention will do. Do you think that’s fair?”

         He knew that it was a trap, but, to hell with the consequences. “No, Ms. Hall, its not fair. Not only did I have to suffer through an incredibly stupid lecture, I was given an impossible choice. If I had said it was fair, you’d just give me extra time. So I might as well disrespect you more so that I’d at least deserve the extra punishment. Now if you’re done wasting my time, I have to get home.”

         Mike left his incompetent teacher sputtering with anger at his comments. Well damn, he thought, now I’ll have to explain this to the old man. Meh, I’ll wait until he’s drunk to tell him about it.

         Mike trudged down the school cooridors toward the doors of freedom. He stopped breifly to stuff his things in his locker. I’d better hurry up, I really don’t want to be cornored by them, again. No sooner than he thought that, an ominous shadow enveloped him and everything in a three foot radius. He turned around, silently groaning. Steve “The Don” O’Donnel, was standing directly in front him, flanked by his two cronies Matt and Joe Belwright. Steve wore a disgusting grin that seemed to stretch across his whole face. His entire body seemed to be made of silly putty, and it was a wonder that there was enough muscle under there to lift up his own fat ass, let alone play the star tackle of the football team. Mike uncounsciounsly flinched at the mass of flesh and fat smiling at him, and it was going to cost him.

         “Juth’ what the ‘ell youthstarin’ at yeh fagitty bitch?” Steve had a southern drawl, not that it was noticeable beneath the lisp or his drunken slur. Mike looked him in the eye cooley, “Sorry, I was just amazed at how you were able to walk over here, instead of rolling your folds of fat in my general direction. Then you smiled and I had to wonder if it was really your mouth or just another fold of flesh. But hey, I guess I was wrong, it was your mouth! Silly me, huh?”

         The Don stared at Mike for a moment, and Mike could’ve sworn he’d seen small ripples on his forehead, like the gears in his brain were being overclocked. Steve’s grin quickly turned into a scowl, and a watermelon-sized fist swung through the air towards Mike’s head. Mike quickly ducked out of the way, only to find a boot solidly connecting with his face. Matt, or was it Joe, Mike couldn’t tell, sniggered evily. “Heehee, that’s what you get for trying to one-up The Don. Now take your beating like a man, ya baby!”

         Mike stood back up, disoriented, trying to get his bearing’s back. He cleared his head and opened his eyes, only to see another gargantuan fist coming directly at him. This time, there was no time to duck. The Don’s sausage fingered fist implanted itself in Mike’s face, and Mike felt the tell-tale signs of a broken nose. Blinding pain erupted through him, and the piece of tenderized hamburger that once was Mike fell to the ground without a sound. No screams came from him, he didn’t want to give O’Donnel that kind of satisfaction. Instead, Mike got up, brushed himself off and stared defiantly at The Don, with the same cold look as before, blood trickling down his chin. “Well congrats Donny boy, you managed to hit someone after they got kicked in the face. I’ve gotta say, you physical prowress is something to be looked up to. I mean, who knows what you’ll be able to do next. I bet that if you put some sincere effort into it, you could steal some candy from a baby and push and old lady down the stairs. Just be careful, I don’t want you overextending yourself.”

         The Don looked him dumbfoundedly, scarcely believing what he heard. Here was some sickly looking, pale, spindly, poor excuse for a human being standing up to him, The Don! Not only standing up to him, but mouthing off to him. This was too much for The Don, his lips curled into a savage snarl, “Matt, Joe, grab dis piece a shit. We’re gonna take ‘im out back and teach ‘im a lesson ‘ee wont soon ferget!”

         The twin Belwrights looked at eachother, both knowing what was coming, neither of them wanting to see it happen. In turn they both tried to calm the savage man down.

“Cummon Don, the guy’s obviously delusional, no one in their right mind would insult you like that man.”

“Yeah Don, besides, we already gave ‘im a good whoopin’. Look at his face, we broke his goddamn nose!”

“Please Don, all that would do is kill the guy.”

         But The Don would not listen to his cronies, who he considered stupid and useless for anything other than intimidation. He turned violently around at them, “Shut the ‘ell up, both o’ yoush. The is faggity athwipe needs tah learn ‘im a lesson. So if you aint commin’, then I’ll do the damn ting meself.”

         Steve O’Donnel grabbed Mike by the collar and dragged him into the men’s locker room. The Don threw him carelessly at the lockers. Mike’s head hit a locker, and on the way down, slammed hard onto the concrete seat. Groaning, he tired to get up, only to find himself hauled up by two flabby hands. Mike was slammed hard against a locker, and The Don leered at him evily, placing a hand around Mike’s throat. “Well now yah piece o’ shit, ah’ll teach ye tah mouth off tah me!”

         Holding Mike above the lockers and the bench by his throat, The Don wound his other fist back and struck forcibly into Mike’s face. Over and over again the gargantuan blob that was Steve O’Donnel mercilessly pummeled Mike wherever he could. Seconds became months, every minute felt like a decade. Finally, the combination of air loss and continuous punches began to take it’s toll. Dark edges were creeping along the edges of Mike’s vision. Everything became blurry, then there was darkness.



Chapter 2: Freaking Out



         Michael woke up in a hosptial bed. It was a standard room, a ceiling light, a window, bathroom, and a bible on a desk. The only thing different about this one was a tall, ashen skinned man with long, straight hair. To Mike, who only remembered blacking out, took this a little harshly

         “Just who the hell are you?!” The man started suddenly, like he’d been sleeping, “I know you’re not a  doctor or a nurse, and I’m not sure how they let a freakshow like you into the hospital in the first place! If you don’t get the hell out, I’m gonna start screaming!”

         Like lightning, the well-groomed man was next to the bed, one hand over Mike’s mouth and the other with two fingers at his throat. Mike’s assailant brushed his lips down past Mike’s ear,

“Listen carefully boy, for I will say this only once,” the unknown assailent spoke in a fierce whisper, “My name is Jerod Crow. Learn it, for this will not be the last time that we meet. I visited you because you have done something unique. That thrashing you took would’ve killed a kid like you, should have killed a kid like you. But you lived and recovered in less than three days. I’ve seen this as a sign. Now, because of your unexplained recovery and good fortune, I have bestowed a gift upon you. The gift of life beyond living. The life of a child of the night.”

         Mike looked at him dumbfounded. Jerod sighed impatiently. “You’re one of the Nosferatu. A Malkalvian, a Dearg-due, Wampir, Ch'ing Shih, whatever language you prefer. You’re a vampire, boy. I turned you into a vampire.”

                   Michael’s hand shot up to his neck, and felt…nothing. “Just what are you playing at? I can’t believe you actually tried to convince me that you were a vampire, and that you bit me! It can’t be true, I mean, there’s no holes in my neck or anything.

         Jerod Crow merely sat back and smiled, “Really boy, did you think that with the technological advances made to day, we vampires would still resort to such archaic arts like bitting? With today’s forensic evidence, all a good detective needs is a sample of my spit to match with my daytime personality and link me to all sorts of murders. No, we have changed with the times, and developed a new method.”

         Jerod opened his mouth and lifted his toungue up. Michael, still dumbstruck but insatiably curious, saw was looked like a hair thin barb protruding out from under his tounge. The color drained form Michael’s cheeks.

         “Oh dear God…”

         “Yes Michael its real, and no, you can’t wake up”

         Oh dear God…”

         “Repeating yourself will do nothing to change this.”

         “Oh Dear GOD!”

         “Compose yourself boy! I’ll not have my new fledgling act about all willy-nilly. It would be embarrasing.”

         Jerod walked to the door, “I’ll be returning to my home now, I’ve been gone much too long as it is.”

         Michael panicked slgihtly, “Wait! What am I supposed to do? I mean, what can I do with this!” Michael threw his hands wildly in the air, “How can I function in society knowing I’m a vampire”

         Jerod grinned, “Do what comes instinctively. Surely you have some people that you would want to get back at, right? Drain their blood, rip them to shreds. You have to remember, humans being are to us like cows are to them: fresh meat.”

         The white-haired enigma whisked himself our the door, leaving Michael to his thoughts. Do what comes instinctively? People I want to get back at? Yes…that bitch-teacher…Hall, and the guys who sent me here, O’Donnell, the Belwrights. Yeah, they’ll all die, no turning for them. They’ll all die. It’s the only thing I can do with this new existence now…

         Michael sunk back into his bead, thinking of hundereds of ways to get back at those who did him wrong. Meanwhile, Jared Crow was making his way towards the nurse’s desk at the hospital. He handed the nurse on staff an electronic key, the one he used to sneak into Michael’s room unnoticed. He leaned in towards the nurse, “Thanks for the key, and keeping him under long enough to surprise him. And—Oh, damn it!”

         Jarod opened hi mouth and pulled out a long needle from under his tongue. “Well, at least I know that my piercing contact knew what he was doing. That needle stayed in place for the entire act.”

         The nurse fainlly spoke up, “So, are you going to contiue monitoring him? You seemed to have got him hook, line, and sinker. He’d never suspect that you were just some ordinary business-man now.”

         “That is true, the vampire gag is my favorite. And yes, I will keep monitoring him. That way, if he kills the people that I think he will, I can play ‘police officer and arrest him for the murders. He’ll be so messed up when I arrest him that the boy’ll look like a lunatic. Especially with my airtight alibi.”

         Jerod kissed the nurse on the cheek before leaving, calling back, “Have a good day, and keep me posted.”

         Out that door, Jerod Crow, the world’s best con artist and swindler, walked out of a hospital, convinced he had forced a kid to commit homicide. Jerod Crow was having a very good day.