The Renfield Syndrome Ch. 04

The Renfield Syndrome (Non-erotic bisexual horror) - David is an ordinary man thrown into a nightmarish world of bloodlust and passion with his own humanity at stake. This is an ongoing work in progress of psychosexual horror. https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=7267751&page=submissions

CONTENT WARNING: Bloody horror violence and gore, strong sexual content, apparent character death

CHAPTER 4

A bit at a time, David became aware of his own consciousness. It was a brief and fleeting thing, his senses too muddled to comprehend his surroundings before he once again submerged into fever dreams that were violent and full of blood. He was back in the filthy basement, except this time he was part of the mob helping tear Aaron apart and gnawing his raw flesh off the bone with sharpened teeth. The heavy metallic taste of the young man's blood was a glorious thing, finer than any wine and more potent than any liquor, and he held one of Aaron's severed arms over his head to let the blood flow freely into his mouth. It was heady stuff, it made him feel strong and energized and powerful, capable of taking on the entire world and anything it chose to throw at him. And so, he gleefully joined the cannibalistic orgy, reveling in the sheer carnality of it all. The freedom from civility itself. To be an animal unconcerned with the world beyond the next meal or the next fuck. To fear nothing and know no master, to experience the world unshackled by morals and manners. It was intoxicating and he wanted more.

Slowly and reluctantly, he surfaced from this exquisite fantasy, and parts of the hated real world began to register in his mind. Hard, rough ground beneath him, the stench of refuse, the patter of raindrops on his face and bare torso. Then these were gone again and in their place was a dream of motion and activity.

He was running along a rooftop, surrounded by others he recognized as his fellows. He reached the edge and leapt two stories to the ground, landing easily and without harm, then continued his mad chase through the jungle of concrete and glass that was the city. David and his packmates were in pursuit of something, this much he knew, just as he knew that their target tonight was doomed. It was blood they were after, and they would not be denied. David's pack coordinated by instinct as they spread out along the wet and nearly deserted streets to surround their prey on all sides.

It was a woman of undetermined age, dressed in a long coat and holding an umbrella against the rain. Waiting for a bus or a ride, perhaps. It didn't matter what she was doing or why she was out alone in the city this late at night. Her fate was sealed as soon as the pack picked up her scent.

David emerged from an alleyway and caught sight of her, and his lips pulled away from his teeth as he inhaled and tasted the air. She was already afraid, that was a good thing. Fear made them taste better. From the refuse scattered around his feet he found a discarded piece of piping, which he picked up and banged multiple times on the brick wall of the alleyway, creating a hollow ringing sound that carried through the night air. An instant later, a similar sound reached his ears from across the street as one of his packmates signaled they were also within killing range and the coast was clear. The rapping and banging was quickly picked up by others until it came from all directions, echoing around the empty street. The woman heard the racket and her stress levels spiked by several notches as she tried to identify the source. David could smell it on her. Unable and unwilling to contain his hunger any longer, David stepped out of the alleyway and stalked toward the woman as on all sides his packmates did the same, cutting off every avenue of escape.

The woman clearly saw him, he was finished with hiding. Startled, she turned to walk hastily in the other direction, but another of David's packmates was already there. The woman dropped her umbrella and dug into her purse as the pack emerged from their hiding places and approached from all sides. David himself was the first to reach her just as she produced a small canister from her handbag and brandished it in his face, triggering the button and filling his eyes with liquid fire as she pepper-sprayed him at point blank range. The pain did nothing but make David angry, his other senses were razor sharp and he didn't need his eyes to bring his prey down. Like a pack of wild dogs, David and his fellows converged on the woman as she began to scream, and scream, and scream...

Then this dream/fantasy/memory fell away too as against his will, David's mind groped for consciousness. He didn't want to wake up, this was a fine dream and he wanted to enjoy it to the fullest. But his treacherous brain began to register different surroundings for him, ruining his dreamscape bit by bit. The stench of garbage and salt water replaced the heavenly scent of the woman's terror and blood in the air. His loyal and ferocious packmates disappeared one by one, as did the desolate street they stood on. Gradually, David became aware he was lying on damp ground with the rain drizzling down on him, and he finally forced his groggy eyes open to get a glimpse of his surroundings.

He was in an extremely narrow alleyway, more of a wide space between two brick buildings. David was half buried in refuse and newspaper that clogged the space, and he was both shirtless and shoeless. He tried to sit up and the world swam violently, so he sank back down again, staring up at the narrow slit of dark gray sky he could see above as the rain pattered down on his face. Black plastic bags surrounded him, and the stench of garbage was enough to choke on, as if the residents had been using this space as a personal dumping ground for a long time. Mingled in was the strong smell of polluted seawater that told him he must be somewhere near the waterfront. David couldn't guess if it was early morning or late evening from what he could see, neither did he have any sense how long he might have laid here in this filthy alcove among the coffee grounds and rotting fruit. His memories were fuzzy and dreamlike, seeming more like distant nightmares than anything that could possibly have taken place in the real world.

David's body was a tangled mass of aches and pains, so much so that he couldn't at first determine which part of him was what. His entire throat felt red raw on the inside and swallowing was painful. He brought a shaky hand up to his face and rubbed his eyes, blinking hard several times now that he was committed to the act of regaining consciousness. A second attempt at sitting up was more successful than the first, although the world still swam dizzyingly, and he was forced to steady himself. Then he looked down and realized that his pants were open and there was a lot of blood in his lap. The dream of the beautiful woman with a lower set of choppers came back with crystal clarity, and it was with some panic that David yanked his own pants down to inspect himself for damage.

There was no missing it, there was a rough ring of large scarred-over puncture wounds all around the base of his cock and balls. Though still encrusted with blood, the marks looked like they had been healing a while, but it was extremely clear that David was goddamn lucky that he hadn't been gelded. He was naked from the waist up and his chest was likewise smeared with blood that had mostly dried, his feet caked black as if he had been running through the city for days without shoes. Instinctively, David checked for his phone and wallet and found them both missing. He had been picked clean and dumped here.

David found in that moment he had no clue what part of the nightmare real and what part was a fever dream constructed by his own deranged mind. As he sat trying to shake the cobwebs out of his head, he wanted to reject his own memories as being impossible. A hallucination, maybe he had been drugged. Or maybe he had relapsed and the whole thing was the worst case of alcoholic delirium tremens the world had ever seen. But to embrace his memories as truth was to embrace madness, and so he tried to push the nightmares away and focus on his immediate predicament.

He managed to stand on shaky legs, using the walls on either side of him for support, and started to step through the bagged and spilled refuse, yelping in pain when his bare foot came down on something exceptionally sharp. He pulled his foot up to inspect the underside and saw a large sliver of a broken soda bottle deeply embedded in the sole. Wincing, he pulled the shard out with trembling fingers and tossed it to the side, then limping on his injured foot he emerged from the crevice between buildings and got a look around.

He was on a narrow, poorly populated street somewhere deep in the city, crammed in between a run-down tattoo parlor and a late-night grocery. A few cars ambled by and there was a scattering of pedestrians who openly ogled the half-naked lunatic that had just emerged into their midst. David could only imagine what he must look like as he stood there, smeared with blood and garbage, groggily looking around, and trying to get a sense of where he could possibly be in relation to home. One approaching couple paused at the sight of him and then crossed the street rather than pass too close, and David found he couldn't blame them a bit. Walking seemed preferable to standing here getting gawked at, so he picked the direction his frazzled brain thought likeliest and limped down the sidewalk, keeping his head down and avoiding eye contact.

David had no idea what time of day it was, but the deepening shadows and the city lights coming on revealed it to be evening. As he caught views of the Seattle skyline, he was able to place himself south of downtown near the waterfront, so not knowing what else to do with no money and nothing in his pockets, he set out walking north. He chose the least-inhabited streets he could find, praying he didn't encounter a cop. He would be sure to draw their eye and a cop was the last thing David ever wanted to see again. The darkness of the evening grew more profound as he traveled, the last of the day people disappeared, and the night people started to claim the streets ready for a night of drinking and clubbing and fucking.

The passersby either stared suspiciously or averted their eyes as city folk are prone to do. David was just one more homeless person, one more mentally damaged vagrant intruding on their evening, someone for whom the best-case scenario was that he simply go away and be quickly forgotten. That was fine by David and so he obliged them, trudging barefoot block by block northward without speaking to anyone or even looking up from the sidewalk. It was a chilly night, but he was grateful for it as his body felt strangely overheated and the air was quite pleasant. Perhaps he had a fever, but that thought was put on David's growing "for later" pile as he focused on walking and closing the distance to the only safe place he knew.

Home was an urban apartment in a security building north and east of downtown proper, near the I-5 exit to Capitol Hill. It was a hell of a long way to walk, but there was no help for it. David doubted anyone would let him on a bus looking the way he did, and he didn't have any money on him anyway. So, he passed through the great glass canyons of downtown on foot, glad to find himself feeling surprisingly energetic. David didn't pretend to be the greatest physical specimen in the world, having a job that involved sitting at the computer all day. Normally walking this far would have worn him right out, but he strode on picking up speed as he went, his aches and pains receding into the background of his awareness. Even his cut foot didn't hurt any more, and as the cold gray Seattle rain began to patter down yet again, he increased his pace to a swift jog. Finding this exhilarating rather than tiring, David broke into a run.

In this way, David crossed the distance between himself and home, astonished at his own bottomless well of endurance. It was weird, but running full tilt, shirtless and barefoot in the Seattle rain felt somehow freeing. Nobody dared molest him, the crazy man charging down the sidewalk and out into the street to play chicken with a car on a mad impulse. That was fine by David, he no longer wanted anyone's help. At last, he reached his own block and home, a decrepit apartment building situated over an even more decrepit bar. There he paused, panting but still not out of breath, and took stock of his situation. Specifically, he didn't have his keys. For all he knew they were still in the ignition of his car, wherever that might be now. It was a security building with no guard, and David didn't have his phone to try to call maintenance to let him in either.

With only one option remaining, he went to the call box and punched his neighbor Lori's number. She was also a multiple-time ex-girlfriend, but they remained dear friends. Enough so that she still had his spare key. There was a beat or two and then her voice came over the speaker, "Hello?"

"Lori, it's David. I forgot my keys, can you buzz me in?"

"David! Where have you been?"

"Um... I'm not sure, long story. Can you just open up?"

"Of course, I'll meet you at your place." There was a buzzing sound as the door unlatched and David quickly let himself into the building. Within was a smallish vestibule with mailboxes covering one wall and the locked door to the manager's office on the other. Ahead was the elevator and David noted sourly that there was a notice pinned on it reading, "Out of order". The building was old and so was the elevator, and it seemed to break down every other month. But still feeling bizarrely energetic, he took the stairs without complaint, climbing four flights without pause. Normally he had to take regular breaks on the trip up, and he was becoming mystified that his body wasn't giving out from exhaustion.

David's apartment was on the fifth floor, and he emerged from the stairwell to see Lori waiting for him down the carpeted hallway. He raised his hand in mute greeting, but she seemed too stunned at the sight of him to return it. The short curvy woman ogled him as he approached, speechless. "Thanks Lori, you're a life saver," he said when he reached her.

"I brought your spare key... David, what happened to you? Where have you been, I've been worried about you!" Her dark eyes were full of concern, and her frizzy hair was extra frizzy as if she had been in bed.

"I'm uh... not quite sure." He accepted the key from her and unlocked his door, hoping he might be able to bow out of the conversation, but Lori was having none of it.

"What do you mean you're not sure? What were you doing outside barefoot? Is that blood? You look like you haven't showered in a month."

"I think... I got mugged," David said, settling on the first thing that might explain his appearance. For all he knew, it might even be true. His mind would still not accept his memories as anything other than a horrifying, drunken nightmare. "They got my phone, my wallet, everything."

"Mugged?" Lori thwarted his attempt to back away into his apartment and shut the door. She pushed it open and stepped inside without being invited. "Oh my god, did they hurt you? We have to call the police..."

"No police!" David said, far more sharply than he intended. "I mean, um... they won't be able to do anything because I didn't see who it was. They hit me from behind. Really, I just want to take a shower and go to bed."

"David, you're not making any sense. I last saw you on Tuesday and you haven't been home since then. I know because I took the liberty of feeding Tish for you."

"Oh my God, Tish!" David exclaimed, remembering his housecat. "What day is it?"

"It's Saturday, what do you mean you don't know what day it is? Were you knocked out or something? Maybe we should get you to the hospital."

"No, no hospital either. I hate the places. Really, I'm okay, I just need to get cleaned up." But Lori was looking at him skeptically now, and David knew she wasn't going to be mollified. "Look, I think maybe I... Here, come on in and sit down and I'll try to explain, okay? Tish? Where are you kitty?"

David's apartment was on the small side as most of the units in this decrepit building were. It was the only apartment he could afford on top of paying the Old Man's bills and it was his hole in the world. It looked lived in but not messy, and David's eye for décor had no central theme, the walls busy with a variety of bright posters and wall hangings. Last year's Halloween decorations were intentionally left up, and a string of Christmas lights adorned his bookshelf just because he liked the ambiance. Rather than a bedroom, the apartment had an ancient murphy bed, and other furniture was limited to David's writing desk, a small table and chair, and his slightly worn recliner.

David motioned Lori to take the comfortable chair as he called Tish again, whereupon the sleek black cat poked her head out of her favorite cupboard hidey hole. "There you are!" he called to her, stepping forward and bending down to rub his beloved pet's head in greeting. But Tish yowled and scrambled away from him, her back arched and her tail fluffed out in a panic.

David was astonished. Tish was the sweetest tempered cat he'd ever owned in his life, he'd gotten her the second he found an apartment that would allow a pet. On normal days she doted on attention and never seemed to completely stop purring, but now she was in the middle of the room growling and looking ready to bolt. Instinctively David reached out to try to soothe her, and she lashed out with her claws drawing blood from his hand. He jerked back, and Tish retreated to the farthest corner away from him, never dropping her wary eye. "Tish, what the hell?" He didn't approach again and was baffled.

"Oh my God", Lori said. "She really got you, do you need a band aid?" Tish had indeed gotten him good, the back of his hand was deeply scored by her claws. "Here, I'll grab one for you." She stepped into the tiny bathroom and Tish coiled around her legs, putting Lori between her and David. "Cat, what has gotten into you?"

"Yeah, Jesus Christ, Tish, what did I ever do to you? Ow!" He licked his wounded hand, tasting fresh blood and retreated to pull the 'kitchen' chair over near the recliner so Lori and he could sit comfortably together. She emerged from the bathroom with the promised band aid and offered it to him, taking a seat and regarding him seriously.

"Okay David, what happened? We've been through way too much, you know you can tell me anything. Where have you been for the last four days, and where are your clothes?"

"I'm going to tell you the truth, I don't know. I remember going over to the Old Man's house for the usual nightly shit. He was having one of his really special nights and I left in a hurry. After that... after that, I don't even know what's real anymore, I had some really bad dreams I think. I guess I had the mother of all relapses, that's all I can think of."

"Oh no! David, you made it so far this time. And you don't even remember where you've been?"

"No, not really, it's all messed up in there." He indicated his own head with one finger. "I don't remember drinking, but I think I must have. I guess I've been in a blackout. I wonder where my car is?" In a police impound lot? He found he didn't want to tell Lori about the cops just in case they were real.

This explanation, Lori seemed to accept. She took David's hands and gave them a reassuring squeeze. "Well, we'll get through this one day at a time, like always. We're all only human, and you know I support you, right?"