Donor Read online

  "What do you mean he kills them? Oh God does Richard think he's a vampire too? Are you kidding me? You're grown men. You can't go around killing people. There's no such thing as vampires. Drinking blood isn't going to make you live forever. All you're going to accomplish is catching AIDS, not to mention throwing up." Paul's perpetual grin faded a little as she said this. Now she'd gone and done it, she thought; she'd pissed off the serial killer. Lenore stopped talking and put her hands over her mouth like a self-imposed muzzle.

  Paul took a deep breath, running his fingers over the edge of his glass. “Okay let's get something straight. I don't kill people. I slipped up, but I almost never kill anyone. Rich, on the other hand -”

  The muzzle broke. “Wait wait wait wait wait. There's no 'I almost never kill anyone'. You either kill people or you don't. That's not one of those subjects where there's a ton of gray area.” She stared deeply into her cup of coffee as if it were the only sane thing left in the room.

  “Just out of curiosity, are you supposed to mix Xanax and alcohol? You slurred half of that last sentence.”

  "No of course I'm not supposed to mix them." Lenore chugged down the rest of her drink. Paul motioned to give her a refill, but she stopped him. "You know what? Just give me the bottle of whiskey." She took a hefty swing, making a bitter face as she tried to swallow it down. "Dammit, I never could develop a taste for this shit. I hate shots. I hate liquor, period."

  “There are other drinks in the cabinet.” Paul started bustling around for alternatives.

  "Don't bother. God, I'm hoping to pass out soon. I don't know why it hasn't happened yet." Lenore did not want to be awake when the two serial killers decided exactly what it was they were going to do with her. If their intention was to kill/rape/eat her, then she wanted to miss the show entirely.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know what you're trying to do. Rich is going to be pissed that I'm letting you. He probably wants you awake if I don't kill you first.”

  “What? Why?” Her face began to crumble.

  “We all like a little cat and mouse from time to time.” And with that, his grin widened, and Lenore winced as she saw two fangs descend. Nothing about Paul looked human anymore; even his stance had adopted a predatory hue.

  She covered her eyes with both hands like a child avoiding a horror movie. “Please,” she whispered. “I'm so scared already. Please stop making that face.”

  “Oh Jesus…okay. I’m sorry…one sec…okay, they’re gone. You can open your eyes.”

  Peering through squinted eyes, Lenore dropped her hands to see Paul apologetically staring back at her, his carnivorous grin gone completely.

  “You’ve been such a good sport so far,” he said. “I don’t know why I went and did that.” He rubbed his teeth with his finger. “See? All normal again.”

  Lenore heard footsteps in the hallway and realized that the earlier screaming had abated some time ago. The footsteps grew closer and then faded away. A door shut, and she could hear water running in the distance.

  The thought of Richard-who-kills-people’s return was starting to gnaw at Lenore’s sense of drunken complacency. Was passing out really such a good idea? What was her alternative? She looked down at the mangled body on the floor and had her answer: she didn’t stand a chance.

  “I guess Richard finished talking to Angela,” she whispered, mostly to herself. Lenore was through talking to Paul; the cat and mouse comment had rubbed her the wrong way.

  “I guess so.”

  They sat in silence. Lenore wished someone were there to comfort her. Thank God for Xanax.

  The footsteps grew louder again, and Lenore forced herself to take another gulp of whiskey as Richard entered the room. With damp hair and a fresh change of clothes, he stepped carefully around the body on the floor and leaned against the pool table with a disgusted expression on his face.

  "This whole place smells like an ashtray now," he said, glaring at Paul. "Not only did you completely fuck up my living room with that stupid body dripping all over the FOUR THOUSAND DOLLAR RUG, but you're letting her smoke in here as well?"

  Paul chuckled. “I didn’t mean to overpower the smell of death in here with cigarettes.”

  Richard ignored him. “You are cleaning all of this shit up. I hope you understand that.” He glanced at Lenore, who, to his consternation, kept right on smoking. “Well, look who’s still breathing.” He wrinkled his nose, examining the bottle of whiskey. “How much has she had to drink at this point?”

  “I don’t think she’s had that much, actually. But get this: she took EIGHT Xanax.” Paul held out eight fingers for effect. “Wait, it’s more like twelve because I just remembered she said she took four before she came by.”

  “What, is that a lot?” Richard spotted the empty Xanax bottle on the counter and read the label aloud in monotone. “Take one half to one as needed for anxiety every four to six hours.”

  “I think she’s pretty fucked up about now. She’s like on a mission to pass out. How did it go with Angie, by the way?”

  Richard chuckled. “Well, your stories didn’t match up, that’s for sure. What freaks me out is how she got the knife in here in the first place. We‘re going to have to ransack her room later. Clear it out.”

  “You’re overreacting. We‘re talking about a knife here. You act like it‘s fucking plutonium. Could’ve come from Lancie over there. Wasn’t necessarily Angie’s in the first place.”

  Richard shook his head. “Well, you’d know better than I would—you were her babysitter and all.” Richard shot the body an appraising view from where he stood. “I’d never even HEARD of this guy until he wound up on my carpet. Where’d you guys find him, anyway?” Then he smiled. “Oh no wait. Let me guess. Your friend Charles found him on the Internet! Am I right? Do I win something if I’m right?”

  Paul rolled his eyes. “You know, you knock him, but Charles has scouted out a LOT of meals for you -”

  “That guy is a freak and he attracts other freaks -”

  “- AND he goes to the store for you when you claim to be too busy -”

  “Because he’s a freak! Who DOES that?”

  “- and I’ll bet you use him to find your next donor,” Paul said triumphantly.

  "Oh, another Angela? Thanks, but no thanks. I think I can handle it on my own. God, she was strange. I probably did her a favor by putting her out of her misery."

  “She’s dead, Rich. Cut her a break.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Was I being insensitive? Because you look really broken up. I didn’t realize how upset you were. Can I get you a handkerchief?”

  Paul chuckled. “I’m crying on the inside. Seriously, I liked her okay. I don’t know why you always had such a big problem with her.”

  “What kind of person signs up for this shit? You’d have to be sick in the head.”

  “Did you see what she did to me, by the way?” Paul drew up his sleeve and turned Richard's attention to the back of his hand. The entire forearm was swollen and appeared to be inflamed.

  “Man, that looks like shit.”

  Paul winked at Lenore, who wanted no part of their conversation. “Yeah, but you should see the other guy.”

  Richard snickered.

  Lenore focused intently on passing out, which was proving to be an elusive goal. She held the bottle of whiskey to her mouth again, but could not bring herself to take another sip. The pungent odor of the past two gulps was starting to rise in the back of her throat with the full force of yesterday’s dinner and, to her horror, twelve pills of Xanax. She put out her cigarette and rested her head on the counter, willing herself not to throw up.

  “Hey, why don’t you go lie down on the sofa?” Paul suggested, tapping Lenore on the shoulder.

  She shakily descended from the bar stool and stumbled toward the sofa, nearly tripping on Lance’s remains on the way. Holding back the rising swell in her esophagus, she attempted to make herself comfortable on stiff cushions and closed her eyes. Twelve feet away, she coul
d hear Paul and Richard discussing her as if they were now out of earshot.

  “Hey was she part of the plan, here? She said she was going to buy some records from you. Are you still trying to get rid of those things?”

  “The PLAN? What plan? I didn’t know this evening was going to go all triple homicide on me. I’m trying to clear the records out of storage. They’re just collecting dust these days, and they sound like shit. You know, I don’t get why people are into collecting vinyl anyways. It’s fucking retarded. CDs are much better.”

  "Okay, so she's just in the wrong place at the wrong time? That sort of thing? I mean, she's not your usual fare."

  “And by that you mean she’s not homeless, right? I shouldn’t have brought her back here. I just didn‘t feel like lugging a bunch of shit down the street. I go out for a few hours and all hell breaks loose.”

  “Yeah tell me about it. I didn’t realize we were going to get back so early. I should have texted you.”

  “It’s okay. This shit happens.”

  There was a pause in their conversation, and Lenore could hear someone walk by her, and then walk away.

  “Hey, Rich,” Paul said. “I think she's going to pass out soon. Her breathing has gotten really slooow. Once that happens, take care of her quickly and we‘ll clean up the mess. I have shit I want to do tonight.”

  “Take care of her? Oh, now that you're finished playing with her? I just drank. Why bleed her until I’m hungry again? Besides, we haven’t disposed of Angela yet, or Lance for that matter. She needs to take a fucking number.”

  “Rich, don’t be a dick, man. She didn’t exactly ask to be here. She‘s all but euthanized herself over there.”

  "Umm, NONE of this shit would have happened if you hadn't splattered that guy all over the floor. She'd be listening to those shitty vinyl's in the comfort of her own home right now if it weren't for you."

  “Whatever.”

  “Look, if it’s really that important to you, then you can have her when she passes out. I’m sure it won’t be long now, but take her down the hall so I don’t have two messes in here to clean up….make that YOU don’t have two messes in here to clean up.”

  “But I just fed.”

  “Exactly. That’s what I thought. Leave her to me, then. I‘ll be totally humane.”

  Paul snorted. “Oh yeah? Just like with Angela? Could you have dragged that out any longer?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s ask the guy you ripped apart on the floor over there.”

  “Ooooh,” Paul said in mock offense. “Touché.”

  Lenore lifted her head and opened her eyes to see the room spinning, only half aware of the conversation going on around her. Not quite a cogent thought, there was a nagging sensation that she should be running for her life right now, but her system was entirely too sluggish to comply. She could hear a soft moaning sound and wondered if it was coming from her lips.

  Paul eyed Lenore. “Do you think I should get her a blanket? She looks pretty uncomfortable.”

  “Knock yourself out. Get a bucket too, while you’re at it. I don’t want her throwing up on the couch. That’s just about the only thing in this room that isn’t going to have to be replaced.”

  Barely conscious, Lenore was dimly aware of a blanket being placed over her legs and a pillow being slipped underneath her head. She opened her eyes for the last time to see both Paul and Richard standing over her, talking to one another in hushed tones and glancing in her direction. Then the room spun into oblivion, and Lenore slid gratefully into the awaiting darkness.

  CHAPTER 2

  Angie’s Room

  Lenore awoke to a wet splashing sound and took a moment to realize that she was throwing up into a large blue bucket on the floor. There was vomit in her hair and all over the collar of her shirt. It lined the creases of her neck with a cold, sticky residue. Wiping her mouth with her forearm, she looked around and noted that both the body and rug underneath had been cleared out of the room while she slept. The exposed marble tile was bespeckled with what fluids had leaked through to the floor. She rolled onto her side, opting to go back to sleep for a while rather than face what was in front of her.

  Several hours later, the blue bucket received another deposit, and this time Lenore had a pounding headache to boot. She closed her eyes and tried again to sleep, but could no longer manage to do so. Several painkillers lay inside her purse, which to her relief was still atop the wet bar on the far side of the room, exactly as she had left it. In her current condition, however, anything outside of arm‘s length might as well be on Pluto. Summoning all of her will, Lenore shifted her body into a sitting position, taking great care not to topple the bucket beneath her. She discarded the blanket in her lap and walked toward the bar, head throbbing.

  The side pockets of Lenore’s oversized hobo bag were a veritable pharmacy. The left pocket contained all of her painkillers—these included Tylenol, Aspirin, Ibuprofen, and Percocet (from a previous surgery). The right pocket contained antihistamines, Benadryl, cough drops, eye drops, sleeping pills, nasal spray, and until the night before, Xanax. Curiously, her pack of cigarettes was nowhere to be found.

  Wincing at the pain behind her eyes, Lenore hunched over the sink and ran the water, halfheartedly glancing around for her cup from the night before. Cupping her hands, she washed down three Advil and three Tylenol, figuring that if those did not kick in within the next twenty minutes or so, Aspirin could be added to the equation.

  The chemically induced serenity from hours ago had disappeared, leaving Lenore nervously in tune with the present danger. She looked around. No Paul. No Richard. Would the front door still be locked? Probably, but it was worth a try.

  Apprehensively on the lookout for her captors, Lenore ventured down the hall and toward the foyer. When she got there, the front door would not budge despite furious, yet knowingly futile, pulling at the handle. She took a step back and thought for a moment. The next best course of action would be to try to locate a landline somewhere within the apartment, given that her cell phone was unable to pick up a signal in any of the locations tried so far. But where to begin? Sensing another wave of nausea, she decided to make that decision after visiting the bathroom.

  Lenore heaved over the toilet for a five-minute span that felt like hours. When she could heave no more, she sat with her eyes closed in the middle of the floor, willing her headache to go away. Massaging her temples, Lenore pondered the awful knowledge that three Advil and three Tylenol floated in the porcelain bowl. And now came the classic hangover dilemma: risk throwing up again to take more pills, or forego the pills and endure the headache? Whenever there was a fork in the road, Lenore veered toward the path that involved popping pills.

  She slithered over to the sink and took three aspirins, accidentally catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back at her looked dreadful. Lenore’s angular face was gaunt from restless sleep; deep bags had formed under her dark brown eyes, accentuating half-mast lids. Specks of vomit littered her mousey brown hair like green and yellow confetti. Although she knew that she had better things to do, Lenore took the time to wash her face and attempted to pick her hair clean of sickness before leaving to explore the rest of her surroundings.

  Down the hall and past the parlor, she entered a large library. Wall to wall bookshelves housed an eclectic collection of nonfiction, home repair manuals, National Geographic magazines, comic books, and stashes and stashes of old newspapers. A glass display in the center of the room showcased several antique baseball cards, some of them dating back as far as the 1920‘s. Next to the display were two leather sofas sitting across from one another, with a work desk in between.

  And on that work desk sat a laptop computer. Perhaps she could communicate with someone through email.

  Impatiently, she sat down with the opened computer in her lap and waited for it to boot up, growing nervous that Richard would return to find her sifting through his possessions. The boot screen on the comp
uter gave way to a Windows password prompt for user “Rich”. She pressed Enter in hopes that the password was empty, but was denied access. The prospect of guessing Richard’s password seemed a hopeless endeavor, not to mention a dangerous waste of time. She had to keep moving. Before stepping back into the hall, Lenore switched off the machine and placed it (she hoped) back on the table exactly as she had found it.

  Where should she go next? The apartment appeared to be laid out in a ‘T’ shape, with an entrance at the foyer that opened to separate left and right wings. So far she had only explored the left wing, which included the parlor, the library, and three closed doors at the end of the hall. Opening those doors seemed like a foolish idea; Richard might be on the other side. The prospect of traversing the right wing was equally discouraging. This was the direction that Richard had taken Angela the night before, and Lenore was afraid of what she might find.

  Without Xanax to mollify her, Lenore began to panic. She had to find a phone. She needed to get back to her apartment where 90 more pills waited in the medicine cabinet. A threat, possibly one more frightening than Richard himself, had begun to emerge.

  Withdrawal.

  Lenore grit her teeth and walked toward where Angela was last heard screaming. There was a large modern kitchen to her left. She glimpsed along its walls for a mounted phone but did not find one. A formal dining room adjoined the kitchen, complete with banquet table and chandelier. But again, no landline.

  There was a shut door to the right of the kitchen, which at first glance appeared to be covered in dirt. Taking a closer look, Lenore saw dried blood caked in the hinges and smeared on the knob. This must have been where Richard had taken Angela. She thought about how Angela had screamed on her way down the hall. Lenore’s mouth ran dry. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead. The items in her purse were shaking; the arm that held the purse was shaking; and so was the body to which it was attached.

  “Making yourself at home, I see.” Lenore recoiled to see Richard standing quietly beside her. How long had he been there? She was too frightened to reply.