Path of the Vampire forum

Posted: **21 Jun 2012, 02:15**

The Kinks were on the radio when I came back into the apartment. Paulo nuked some leftover Chinese food and was in the kitchenette, using a spoon to scoop the rice into his mouth.

I’m too terrified to walk out of my own front door,
They’re demonstrating outside. I think they’re gonna start the third world war—

‘Acute Schizophrenia Paranoia Blues’ was playing. Paulo smoked while he ate. He was churning the rice with his spoon, giving me a look. It was the kind of look that asked, What the **** do you think you’re doing?

“What?” I asked him.
“Nothing.” Paulo’s eyebrows darted up to his hairline.
“No, really. What?” I asked him again.
“I don’t like that guy.”
“What guy?”
“Hulk Hogan.”
“Jonah?”
“Yeah, him.”

I took my shoes off and put them by the door. Paulo’s house rules: no shoes on the carpet. I don’t mind because I don’t like wearing shoes, anyway. “He’s sweet.”
Paulo’s eyebrows went up again. I didn’t like the way Paulo was acting (then again I never normally like the way Paulo acts). Jonah had just finished lugging my bookcase and my secretary all by himself up all the flights of stairs in the tenement building. Earlier he’d taken a bad fall when he was walking into the apartment and Paulo almost lost his toes to the secretary. I was worried Jonah had had some kind of heart attack. But he was okay. He wouldn’t even take any water. Then he just got right back up and lugged the secretary out of Paulo’s pick-up.

“He’s on steroids,” Paulo told me. “Or meth.”
“I don’t think he’s on meth, Paulo.”
“He’s on something.”
“You’re on something. Besides, why does it matter?”
He shrugged and tossed the Chinese into the bin. “I dunno. There’s something that ain’t right about that guy.”
“You mean he scared you because you were being an asshole.”
Paulo scoffed and passed his hand over his hair. “I’m going to The Trilby tonight.” The Trilby was a painfully hip bar south of Gullsburough. It employed edgy anti-marketing marketing strategies; it didn’t have a sign and its existence was mostly spread by word of mouth, like mono. It was the trendiest hipster watering hole to date.
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks for helping me move.”
“Lock the door,” Paulo said when he walked out.

It really shouldn’t have been such a big deal; I had already called the police and had given both guys—“Dex” and “Bob”—the slip. I took all the necessary precautions, short of changing my name and moving out of the city, though I’d been sorely tempted. I moved in Paulo’s extra room. I mostly gave up driving my old car, at least for a while. I was thinking about buying a new one, anyway.
I have to admit that it was nice. People were fussing. They were worried. It’s that feeling you get when you’re sick and your mom brings you chicken soup. It’s a mix of gratitude, uselessness, and a delicious helplessness that you can’t help secretly smiling at every now and then.
Even Jonah, who I met not more than a few days ago, was worried. “If those guys come back or just… anything else weird happens,” he said. “Call me.”

I wasn’t prepared for “anything weird” that night. Weirdness was not on my agenda. Not even walking out of the apartment was on my agenda. It was like The Kinks said. “I’m too terrified to walk out of my own front door.” So I sat down in front of my computer, watched movies and trolled random-ass forums, including this one forum where people talked about vampires. Not like Dracula or Lord Ruthven or Edward Cullen or anything, but “real” vampires.

I’d heard about those. I’d seen the Tyra episode. There was a whole subculture by these geeks, and it pissed me off because—well, I don’t have to explain. Check out my stitches and my arm. That’s explanation enough.
I started talking to some random prick. The put-downs turned into flirting. The flirting turned into me giving him my number. Before I knew it, I heard some smooth voice on the other end of the line going, “What’s good? Lydie was it? This is Liesin.”

If I had been listening then, really listening, I might have heard the spirits telling me to **** off right then and there. The sirens would have gone off in my head. The sixth-sense would have picked up on something weird. But I wasn’t listening to Them. I was listening to Jet and they were singing ‘Well you don’t need money with a face like that do you, honey.’
It was the perfect soundtrack to this guy’s voice and the tone of the conversation. He told me that he painted. That he was a surrealist and a concept artist. He painted with blood, which isn’t unheard of since I already knew a chick who painted with her menstrual blood. I told him it was gauche and done.

"Maybe, but it's more fun for me to interact with the one that I'm making the painting for. It's more personal for them. Think of it as a ritual...."

I thought that was freaky, but my kind of freaky, seeing as I am that chick that goes out into the wild and picks up sun-bleached bones and dead things to turn into trinkets.

We decided to meet up for coffee at the Voodoo. I was late. I meant to be late. That’s what you’re supposed to do when you’re meeting someone on the internet in case he turns out to be a complete uggo. It was around eight pm, still early. When I walked in there wasn’t anybody there except the night shift redhead at the register, two balding men who might have been twins in separate booths, and some cute, gangly guy who could have been a body double for Ben Whishaw.

His hair was a fashionable, tousled poof. His clothes were nondescript and mostly dark. He had that artsy, pasty complexion, and big eyes that other people would call ‘limpid’. He didn’t look like he belonged.

… Long story short, we went back to his place.

We were just chilling, flirting back and forth, talking, barely even touching, and I was feeling good. Really good, like he slipped some E into my coffee, except everything was really clear… and then I guess something happened. I don’t know what. All I know is that we were talking and I was suddenly afraid, and I had to get out of there. So I got out of there.

The feeling subsided by the time I got home. Replaying the whole evening in my head, I realized that I’d been a huge weirdo, not to mention rude just stomping off like that. In my defense, I was still shaky from the whole Incident which will now forever be known, affectionately, as “Freaky Friday” in the annals of my history.

I told myself I’d send him a text tomorrow and apologize. And I did, but now I realize I probably shouldn’t have. Though who’s to say what he would have done if I didn’t?

Posted: **21 Jun 2012, 22:47**

“This place is a mess,” Paulo said. He woke up to me in the kitchenette, surrounded by rinds of mango and Mandarin oranges, apple cores, blueberries, peanuts, jewel-red seeds from pomegranates; a plate of sausage links, scrambled eggs, and pancakes drowned in butter and maple syrup; an ashtray filled with cigarette butts; my third cup of coffee. I didn’t know what to tell him. I woke up that morning craving for something I couldn’t put my finger on.
I hardly ate anything. Nothing was doing it.
“I’ll clean up,” I told him. “I made you some pancakes too.”
Paulo shooed the cat off the table and sat down. He helped himself to breakfast. “Okay. Whatever.”

Further into the afternoon I sat around the house doing nothing but biting my fingernails and craving. At the same time I thought about Liesin. I thought about texting him with an apology, or just a cool-cat ‘yo’. It didn’t occur to me that the two thoughts were at all interconnected. I didn’t (DON’T) want Liesin; he wasn’t (ISN’T) my type. But he had (has) something I wanted (want). I just didn’t know it yet.

Cue sinister music.

* * *

I did finally text Liesin around nine, intending to invite him to a party at the Metronome. I was going with Jimmy and Ella. Jimmy and Ella were a couple of the ex’s old friends (to my ex, if he ever reads this: I blame everything that is happening here on you. You were why I moved to this god-forsaken piece of earth in the first place. You are why I am in the mess I am in now). It was a good idea because Jimmy and Ella were one of those couples—the ones that were all over each other all the god-damned time.

Sorry I ran out last night. Kind of had a panic attack I guess. Weird stuff been happening lately. /boohoo

His message came up a minute or so later.

1 New Message
9:18 PM
Weird stuff? Want to meet tonight?

* * *

The Metronome was filled to capacity that night. Local ska heroes The Jumping Jacks were playing then; there wasn’t a single person that wasn’t dancing. Even Ella stopped sucking on Jimmy’s face long enough to dance through a song with me.
For a second I forgot about the unnamed craving. I forgot about Liesin. That’s the thing about music. You listen to it and you dance even though you’ve got two left feet and you forget almost everything. You feel better about the world in general.

“Want a drink?” Liesin was standing behind me, holding out a glass of something light pink.
Kids, you’re not supposed to take drinks from anybody. They could roofie it or slip you something weird, but Auntie Lydie wasn’t thinking. Let her be a lesson to you; don’t take the drink. Stop and think. No matter how cute he is. Just don’t do it. DON’T DO IT.
In my defense, kiddies, he was cute. He was an asshole. He was a cute asshole. They have been the downfall of better women throughout history. And he had a lot of charisma, so I plead non compos mentis.
I took the drink. We talked. He told me about how in ancient times, dances were made to honor the gods before sacrifices were made. I told him I knew that already; my ancestors were Aztecs. His voice was all thick and lustful, almost caressing. I don’t care what they tell you; that kind of attention from a guy so traditionally cute can make anybody stupid.
We talked, we kissed, I drank. The world freeze-framed, slowed down, sped up by ten and then lagged back to normal play mode.
****, I thought. ****. He slipped me something.
Then there was that burst of energy, that confidence. It was almost karmic. I felt like a rockstar. It was the same feeling I got the night before, when I had coffee with him, only magnified.

“What’s in this?” I asked him. “Nyquil?”
“Vodka and cranberry,” he said.
I waited for the roofie to kick in. I waited for things to go blurry and for my head to get light. It never did.

Liesin and I went back and forth, giving each other subtle jabs here and there. Instead of getting blurrier, I got sharper. My mind felt like the edge of a scythe. Whatever he slipped me, I liked it. And I had probably tried worse.
“You know,” I said, “you should get me another drink.”
He did, waving his hand around like royalty as if I wasn’t already impressed. Then he asked, “Do you want me to spike it again?”
I gave him my vodka. He turned his back to me, as if what he were doing was some great magic trick I couldn’t know the secret of, and gave my vodka back to me, pink. And this, dear kiddies, is the part where I got really stupid.
I drank.

* * *

We went back to my place, me with every intention of ******* him. He told me that he grew up in Wyoming, “nothing but fields and corn”. Liesin had told me that he was an artist and had in fact shown me a couple of paintings when we met at the Voodoo (they were bad. Cliché. He wasn’t an artist; he was an illustrator). He told me that he left New York because it was overplayed; there were too many artists there already.
”Not gonna invite a guy in?” Liesin stopped at my door, smirking, his elbow on the archway. I mocked him with a flourish. “Do come in, good sir,” I said.

The minute Liesin came in, Mowgli started hissing. He went up to the tips of his claws, hackles raised, and hissed like I’d never heard him before. I had to admit, it spooked me; I should have tossed Liesin out right then and there.
“Mowgli, stop that!” I said. He looked at me and kept hissing as if to say, You stupid *****. I’m trying to save your *** here.
Kids, always listen to your cats.

“So, whatever you slipped me,” I said, after we’d talked at some length, “Is it addictive or what? Adverse side effects? What is it?”
“Might be addictive,” he said. “I find it addictive when I use it sometimes.”
I wasn’t overly fazed. “What’s it called?”
“Blood.” Liesin said it the word like it was something you would find stuck to the heel of your shoe. Grungy and dirty. I laughed.
“Blood?” I laughed again. “What’s it made of?”
"It's a biological drug, harvested from the liver of a mammal."
Organic. It couldn’t be that bad.
He asked me if I wanted more. I said yes. Why wouldn’t I say yes? Why wouldn’t I be that stupid?

Liesin told me to close my eyes. He covered them for me. I noticed that his hands were cold, not in the way that the weather makes your hands cold but the sick, clammy cold that air-conditioning makes them.
Something dripped into my mouth. It tasted like everything at once. It was salty and insidiously sweet, and underneath all that there was the taste of copper and iron, like real blood. When I swallowed it, I got the rushes again. I shuddered. I sighed.
When I opened my eyes, he was smiling, holding his hand behind his back. I wanted to see what he was hiding there, but in a chivalrous way that was almost chauvinistic, he kissed the back of my hand. It occurred to me that I was getting in a whole shitload of trouble, but I didn’t care. The “Blood” made me feel damn near indestructible.
So I kissed him. He started kissing my neck.
And then he bit me.

It wasn’t one of those cute, hickey-making lovebites. Liesin bit into me the same way somebody bites into a hamburger; the same way a pitbull sinks his fangs into a burglar’s leg. I could hear the skin pop between his teeth. And then I could feel him suck.
I did what anybody would do. I screamed. I beat at his chest with my fists. I tried to push him off, but he was too strong, and he kept drinking. He lapped at the blood, licked my throat. He held my wrists down and whispered in my ear. “Do you want to know what the drug is now?”
Then, a lot like “Bob” did back in the bar—the trick with his wrist, Liesin bit into his own lip and forced his mouth over mine.
“My blood is the wine of the moon.” Liesin had his knees on my thighs. I couldn’t move. “Get off,” I screamed. “Get off me!”
He asked me why. He asked me why he shouldn’t just drain me dry right there and make me a painting. “Where are you gonna go?”
I begged him not to hurt me. He said he wouldn’t, if I ‘behaved’. I played along. He got off of me.

He pulled out a cleaver and, classic psychotic villain style, dragged the edge of it over my face. Liesin said that he was a surrealist in the tradition of Dali. This was probably his best work yet. I had the distinct impression of having seen this movie before—this exact same scene in some B-rated film.
”Listen and listen well, mortal.” His breath was rank with blood and blowing right over my cheek and ear. “If you move, I will send you to the hospital, and remove part of your brainstem.” Liesin didn’t sound like the smooth talker he was on the phone. It was cruel. Black, if noises can have colors. “You cannot outrun me. I am divinity.”
Again, I begged him not to hurt me. It wasn’t a conscious effort anymore. The words were coming out by themselves. What he was saying didn’t even register anymore. I felt like throwing up.
“My love, rest quiet and I will kiss you forever.”

Liesin said that he wasn’t going to hurt me. I didn’t buy it. He said that I had “won his affection”. He wouldn’t hurt me if I promised to stay still. I promised. He smiled. My stomach lurched. He called me a good girl.
”Humans are like dogs,” he said. “You have to be trained.”
“What do you want?” I asked him.
I saw Mowgli’s tail slip out of the window and into the fire escape. A sharp stab of betrayal pierced the space between my eyebrows. My cat left me, all alone, just like that. The least he could have done after I raised him from a kitten, I thought, was to have maybe scratched the ****** at least.
Liesin didn’t seem to notice. He was talking again.
"You humans, I was among you, have been worshiping the wrong gods for some time.” He nodded. He was looking at me with his eyebrows raised, giving me this pointed look that told me he wanted me to nod, too. So I did. “Gods of the sun and storm. Et cetera, et cetera…. Endless ******** for centuries.” He grabbed my face. His thumb pressed into the soft part of my cheek. I could feel his finger pressing through it and into my gums. “I need you to start my cult.”

I heard his voice as if from under the water’s surface. I didn’t say anything. It’s hard to say anything when your mind shuts down, when you’re in the same, ridiculous situation. I wanted to laugh and vomit and cry at the same time.
Liesin was talking about some kind of “Mother Goddess”, about me gathering my “human friends” and telling them about the “new gods”. I vaguely remember thinking that of course I would go on a date with a raving lunatic. That was just so Lydie of me.
“Okay,” I said, not having anything else to say. “Okay.”
“Do you need proof of my power?”
I said no. He said he didn’t believe me. Liesin passed his hand over my cheek. The look in his eyes was the look of some divine, ecstatic pilgrim, as if what he was doing was giving me a sort of benediction. It’s the same look you see on faith healers: eyes flashing, rolling back in the head, jaw going slack. I didn’t know if I should have fallen back and proclaimed that I had seen god, that I was healed, and hallelujah.
It could have been the drugs, and it could have been the adrenaline, or it could have been the inexplicable situation I was in (well, there was one explanation, but I wasn’t quite willing to accept it just then—nor am I yet), but the minute he touched me I felt better. Better as in better at everything. I felt as though I could maybe push him down, outrun him, get up and get out.

There’s a moment of pure, unadulterated terror, that in retrospect is kind of beautiful, when you’re trying to decide whether or not you should run. The adrenaline courses through your veins. Your legs feel like springs; you’re about to sprout wings and take flight.
It happened fast. I pushed him away from me and ran for the door. His knife cleaved into the door. I grabbed it. He rounded on me with a straight razor, like ******* Sweeney Todd. He cut me. He threw me into the couch. I heard something crack. White, hot pain shot through my right arm.

When I was twelve, I had a bright red bicycle. I loved that bicycle. I slept with it in my bedroom in Barrie, even if my mother got pissed off about the tire tracks on the tile. Every morning I’d lug it down the stairs to ride to school, and every evening I’d lug it up to my room again.
One morning, on my way downstairs, my foot snagged the tire and my bike and I came tumbling down the stairs. I landed badly on my right arm and spent the rest of that semester relearning how to write, eat, wash and dress myself—relearning to live with my left hand.
When I realized that my arm was broken, I stayed still. The joint at my wrist was already swelling. I looked up and I saw Liesin beside me, and even through the hot tears that were clinging to my corneas I could see that he was furious.
“Any further and I’ll take your hand.” He repeated that he wasn’t going to hurt me if I behaved, and that I had sixteen hours to find him a human follower. While he said that, he cut into his palm and made me drink his blood again.
”When you come back with that follower,” he said, “I’ll teach you how to use the powers in my blood.” I felt sick. It was the copper on my tongue and the realization that he was planning to stay in the apartment. In my head I begged Paulo not to come home. For his sake, I hoped he was at some random chick’s place that night. I hoped he wouldn’t come back. I hoped that he was all the way in Barrie.
”Okay,” I said. Liesin would have to let me go so I could “gather his fold”. He would have to. And when he did, I could call the cops.
The blood on my shirt was already drying. It made the shirt stick to my skin and the grinning wound on my stomach sting even more. I could smell the rusty steel smell of it. I was sure that I was dying, but Liesin wasn’t done yet. Before I could even make a sound, he ripped the collar of my shirt and I felt—because I could hardly see—him carving something into the skin below my clavicle. It was small and it didn’t hurt so much, I’m not a stranger to scarification, and when it was finished he kissed me again, and this time on the forehead.
”Now go,” he said. “I’ll be waiting.”
I don’t know how I did it, but I stood up. My legs were shaking and it felt like my arm had swelled to twice its size, but I stood up. I even smiled. That’s what you’re supposed to do when you’re met with a psycho with psycho demands. You play along. At least, that’s what I always saw in the movies.
”I’ll be back,” I said. It was a lie to get me out of the door. It felt wrong to leave that nutjob in Paulo’s apartment, but I would call him later. Gravity made the blood from my wounds drip down to my feet, to the carpet. It dripped, leaving a trail of bread crumbs all the way to the hospital, where I am now.

I used the payphone to call Paulo on his cellphone. He thinks there was a robbery. He’s called the cops, and I don’t know what’s going on now. The painkillers aren’t working very well. When I wake up later, I’m going to call my mother and tell her I’m moving back to Barrie. She’s getting what she wants. I’m going back.
This place is a mess.

Posted: **22 Jun 2012, 04:21**

[OOC Note: Lydie and Liesin
ETA: The following is not found in Lydie's journal. What is found in her journal is the snippet in Georgia font below.]

The male walks into the hospital, not sure why he's there, maybe to pick on humans that are down trodden. He just goes where the moment takes him. A male friend of his, the Doctor that retired from here not too long ago, told him there was a pretty girl checked in. Taking that advice, he steals the clipboard as he walks passed and goes down the hall. He smiles and puts on a doctors coat. The white looks good on him, stained with red from his own clothes. His eyes scan the list, "Good morning sir." He talks to 'another' doctor as he passes. Her name is there. He moves through the halls to her room and opens the door. Closing it behind him, he puts on a face mask. "Well, according to your lab results, you didn't make it back on time..."

The painkillers weren't working very well. There was still a throbbing pain in her arm, where it was broken. The stitches on her torso radiated heat. The carving below her clavicle wasn't deep enough to warrant stitches, so there was a gauze bandage stuck to her throat. She had asked the doctor to test her blood, to see what was in it, maybe figure out what kind of blood was in her, or if the guy had given her anything weird. AIDS, maybe. Other than that, Lydie hadn't spoken to anyone yet. She probably should have called the police or something like that--she should have called a friend, Jonah, anybody, to stay with her. But she felt like if she tried to explain what had happened, she'd start vomiting all over herself. So she didn't call anybody. Not yet. Her cellphone lay at the bedside table. Everything seemed quieter and safer in the hum of air-conditioning. Thank her parents' money and the insurance they made her get before she left home; she had a private room. When the doctor walked into the room, she sat up against the pillows. "You didn't make it back on time," he said. His face was obscured by the face mask. "What?" Lydie asked, already groggy from the pills.

Locking the door, he moves across the room to see her. His *** is pressed firmly to a seat next to her and he scoots closer. His eyes meet her phone, grabbing it, he tosses it behind him. The battery case comes open and it falls out. "Oops." He nods his head and smiles at her then leans in close. "Yes, but I'll forgive you."

His face was still covered by the mask, but from this close up she could tell who it was. That was the same hair, the same nose. And she'd never forget those eyes. She'd have nightmares about them for months. Lydie let out a frightened sound and looked around for the call button.

"Sh, sh, shh. It's okay baby-bird. I'm going to help you." He nods his head and looks at her. "I"m here to give you some medicine and give you a boosted healing." He looks at her and takes the button that calls the nurse. "Okay?" Pulling out a cup, he reaches down and takes that blade. He cuts his wrist and lets the blood drop into the glass.

She was afraid. She was afraid and she was paralyzed, but there was something in her that leapt up and smiled, stood at attention when she saw his blood dripping out of the wound. Lydie couldn't reconcile two realities, the one that she currently lived in and the one where Something Else existed, so she didn't think about it. All she knew was that his blood made her feel good, and that was enough. It was disgusting, it was terrible, horrifying, she didn't want to do it, but it made her feel good. And maybe it would take the pain away. Lydie, although she was trembling, looked up at him. Her mouth was loose, her jaw a little slack.

When the cup is full, exactly one pint, he hands it to her and looks into her eyes. "Drink all of that, little miss." He smirks and brushes her hair from her face, inspiring her again. He gives her all the same feelings as before. His fingers stay in her hair. "Had I known you were here, I would have come sooner."

And then there was that inexplicable feeling of well being and competence again, when he touched her. She couldn't explain it. There was something there that made her feel at ease (even when another, more conscious part of her was screaming). Lydie took the cup and took a hesitant sip, and then started drinking.

"Good girl..." He leans in and kisses her forehead. He moves the bandage at her neck away and looks at the rune. A smile on his lips seeing that it has stuck there. "I'm sorry I frightened you. You caught me when I was in need of an offering."

She choked on the last mouthful of blood, suddenly conscious of what it was that she was drinking. The coppery aftertaste stuck to the roof of her mouth. But she held it down and squeezed her eyes shut. That rushing in her head started up again, that sense of euphoria. She could have smiled, she felt like smiling, but she was afraid too. Or in awe. She couldn't decide. "How did you find me?" she asked after a couple of seconds of silence. Her voice was small; she was scared to make too much noise.

"I know a Doctor here. You may know him, Doctor Revotksy?" He looks at her not sure what to next. He wants to look at her wounds and see if he can get a healer-god in here. Someone to help her out and make her feel better.

Lydie's fingers curled around the cup. She shook her head and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "I don't know him," she said. Her voice quavered. Her heart beat in her throat. Lydie gulped and looked at the phone on the floor, at the call button in his hand, then at him. "I'm not going to tell anybody what you did," she said. "Please don't hurt me."

"I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt that you tried to find me more followers but were.. apprehended on the way." He looks at her and leans back in the chair. "Why are you so afraid of me? Is this not what you want? To be in the presence of greatness?"

She tried not to scoff, although she wanted to. And again, for the second time in a row, Lydie couldn't speak. She had no words to speak. All she could do was look at him and hold her broken arm at her side, her feet itching to hit the floor and run.

"Answer me." He eyes her not sure whether or not to end her life there. That voice is itching the back of his mind.

"I'm afraid," she said, flinching, "of what you are."
"What am I?"
A ******* psycho. "I'm not sure."
Lydie couldn't believe it. She just couldn't, but there it was. The strength. The strange presence. But she wouldn't--couldn't--believe it. "How?" she asked.
"I told you what I am. I am a God." He nods his head a little bit and looks at her. "I was hand picked by Kacee, my mother of the Gods. She is Mother Night, I her son." He looks at her a little and then tilts his head to the side a little. He isn't sure where else to go with this.
She almost laughed. "KC," she echoed. "The Goddess KC. And her son Liesin." She really couldn't believe it. She was almost there, but she was hanging, perhaps for her own sanity, on the last strand of incredulity left in her body.

"I wish you could meet her. She tends to pop out of no-where sometimes." He smiles at the woman and looks around, curious if his mother was hidden in the shadows some where. He grins at her and then leans forward. "What more proof do you need? I've blessed you more than five times now, and given you my blood, like the Western-Christ."
"I don't know," she said. It was strange to sit here and talk so plainly with the man who had a night before attacked her. "Walk on water."
"My mother can do that. She says I will come into my own eventually." He looks at her and nods his head. "I feel I'm getting close to a new divinity. Women keep looking at me."

"Why me?"

"You have that air about you? The occult. Different things you may or may not have seen." He looks at her and smiles and kneels down next to her bed.
"You're a god?" she asked. "How is that possible? It's not." She edged away from him a little bit. "You want me to start a cult. I don't even know---" The words failed her again. She covered her mouth.
"It is possible whether you like it or not." He eyes her a little bit and stands, starting to get annoyed with her lack of faith. "I am trying to be a merciful God and you are testing me."
"What do you want?!" She was starting to panic again. She drew her hand around the blanket and pulled it over her chest, tucked it under her chin as if it would protect her from him.

"I want you to start our cult." He looks at her and sighs a little bit. "I want to teach you to use the powers that blood gives you, but I need you to agree first."
"What are you going to do if I don't?"
"Kill all your friends, starting with your cat, and working my way through them."

---- . . .

"You're serious, aren't you," she said. Her hand shook when she took it off of her mouth. "You're going to kill them if I say no."
"Oh, very serious. I am above your laws, human." He looks at her, his eyes are wild and a smirk plays along his lips. "I will make sure they suffer."

. . . !

She wasn't sure yet if she believed him, about him being a god. Or about Kaycee, or whatever her name was. But she did believe that he would kill everybody she knew. And he already knew where Paulo lived. Way to go, Lydie. After what must have seemed like minutes of silence that rang in her ears, she nodded. "Okay."
A smile plays along his lips that once was that devilish smile of twisted evil. He just looks at her and kneels down before her. "Good, when you leave here, I will make sure to visit you."
The blood rushed and pounded in her ears. She thought about packing up and leaving Harper Rock, leaving Canada... leaving the god-damned continent. She thought about running out that door right then and there. But she didn't. The blood was still on her tongue. Instead, she nodded.
Leaning in, he kisses her forehead, and sighs. "Behave, and I'll see you soon." He puts the mask back over his face, unlocking the door. He says loudly as he opens it, "No, no. Can't stay, I have other patients to see.." And he leaves, walking out of the hospital.

. . .?!

Seconds after he left, Lydie stood up. Her legs were shaky. She picked her cellphone off the floor and with one hand, one shaking hand, tried to put it back together.

_______________________________________

Liesin visited. Says I should start a cult for him or everybody I know dies. Kill me now.

Posted: **22 Jun 2012, 04:30**

Call from Liesin.

-- Lydie. My name is for your ears only. Let it pass from your lips and you will lose my favor.
-- Okay.
-- Like Yahweh, his followers call him 'God'. You will find a title for me. You're creative, I saw your apartment.
-- Okay.

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