The Renfield Syndrome Ch. 05

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

CHAPTER 5

"Holy shit, what happened to this guy?"

"Attacked a cop, I can't believe he's alive with all the holes in him. Cop must have been a real bad shot, I guess he missed everything important. Reports of extremely violent behavior, so let's leave him strapped down just in case. Vitals?"

"Blood pressure elevated, one thirty-five over ninety. Temperature one-oh-three, he's burning up. Heart is palpitating, it's way too fast. Pulse 140 bpm."

"Whatever he's on, it's a lot stronger than the vodka in his pocket. Get him on saline and let's run drug, alcohol, and toxicology, figure out what we're dealing with. He's amped to the gills on something. Any ID on him?"

"No wallet or ID, he's a John Doe. Put him in 4-B while we wait for the drug screen. He's out like a light, he's not going anywhere."

Except David wasn't out like a light, not anymore. His mind had snapped awake when they loaded him on the stretcher, but rather than alert anyone to his consciousness, it seemed wiser to lie still and play dead. He was supposed to be dead, after all, he'd been pumped fulla lead as they used to say in the old spaghetti westerns. He could even feel the bullets lodged in his body, two in his right shoulder and three in his chest, one in the region of his heart. Objectively, he was in agony, but the pain seemed unimportant, like something that might be happening to a different person even, and it was easily ignored.

David stayed still and kept his eyes closed, feigning unconsciousness all through the ambulance ride, and used the time to try to reason out what had just happened to him. His memories of the evening were crystal clear and sharp in spite of the fog of alcohol in his head, but he couldn't comprehend his own actions. At the time, taking a big ol' bite out of poor, pretty Eric had seemed like the most natural thing in the world, his only regret was that he hadn't had time to savor it. David couldn't explain to himself why he had done it, except that almost supernatural hunger had simply gotten too great to deny any longer. It had been worse than any alcohol craving, any drug withdrawal. He could still feel it, coiling inside of him like a living thing, sated for now but still restless, filling his mind with violent fantasies of what he should have done to the cop who shot him. But these thoughts were alien to David's mind, the thoughts of someone he didn't know and couldn't recognize. He wanted to deny thinking them, just as he wanted to deny his own actions, and found he could do neither.

What in the name of God was happening to him? It was too much to write off as a bad binge. His body felt out of control and his mind felt like a caged animal, and he no longer trusted either one. Who knew what was real or not anymore? So much had happened that seemed impossible, so many things he himself had done that were beyond the realm of possibility as he understood it. Not the least of which was that David couldn't remember ever winning a fight in his entire life, and yet he'd made mincemeat out of a guy twice his size armed with a baseball bat and didn't crack a sweat doing it. That was as incomprehensible to David as the fact he'd attacked the guy in the first place. Again, at the time it had seemed like the right thing to do and he hadn't questioned it.

And now he was in the emergency room of the hospital. He stayed quiet and still throughout getting his wounds triaged and dressed, through several pricks of the needle as they took blood and injected him with something. Then the general din of the ER receded somewhat as they stuffed him somewhere out of the way after ensuring he was still safely strapped to the gurney.

When his other senses told him he was alone, David cracked an eye and took stock of his surroundings. He was in a curtained off exam room surrounded by the tools of the emergency medical trade, including a heart monitor that was beeping at a worrying pace. David went to feel his own chest and discovered that he was bound ankle and wrist by canvas straps holding him down. He tested them, found them quite secure, and gave this a moment's contemplation. Then David began to strain against the bond on his right wrist. The muscles in his arm bunched as he gradually and steadily increased the force, until he was pulling against the strap with all his might. He pulled and pulled with sweat popping on his forehead until suddenly with a heavy tearing sound he ripped the restraint free from its mooring.

Breathing hard from the exertion, David quickly unbuckled his left hand and then his ankles, then pulled the large I.V. needle from his arm, but hesitated at the heart monitor. Leaving it in place for the moment, David looked down at the bloody gauze that had been applied to his chest and shoulders and wondered that he was still alive, let alone peppy enough to break a canvas restraint. On an impulse he pulled the trauma bandage beneath his left pectoral away so he could inspect the wound beneath, and his mad suspicion was confirmed. David was no doctor, but he knew a fresh wound from one that had been healing for a while, and he guessed this one to be a week old at the very least. It was as if the natural healing processes of his body had gotten set on overdrive, his wounds scabbing and scarring over at ten times their normal pace.

David had no time to contemplate this miracle however and found himself locked in a fierce argument with himself about what he should do now. The part of him that wasn't taking all this weirdness with so much chill said that there was something very very wrong with him. Whatever was supposed to happen, none of this was it. And it further reminded him that he was in the place where you were supposed to go when something was wrong. The common sense, civilized thing to do was stay right here and let himself be examined and hopefully cured.

David's newly awakened animal brain did not like this idea one bit. He didn't like hospitals to begin with, he associated them with pain and illness, filled with the stench of antiseptic and death. If he were to stay here, he would be trapped, no way they would let him go after his adventures tonight. There were at least three assault charges against him that he would have to explain as well as his inhuman healing factor. If he told them the truth about anything, they'd throw him straight into the crazy house. David wasn't at all sure they wouldn't just for the hell of it, it was probably where he belonged anyway.

It was this last thought that made his mind up. David pulled the heart monitor from his chest and the rapid beeping that sounded like he had a hummingbird in his chest turned into a long steady tone. Knowing it would be seconds before someone was summoned to check on him, he peeked through the curtains surrounding his exam room, and then slipped out into the hallway. He cast his eyes about and spotted a glowing red exit sign, and made a beeline for it, walking as fast as he dared through the busy E.R. without attracting attention.

He was almost to the automatic doors leading to the waiting room and freedom when a matronly looking nurse holding a clipboard stepped out into the hallway directly in his path. He tried to dodge around her, but she caught sight of the bloody bandages covering him and the restraint still attached to his wrist and immediately registered something was very amiss. "Sir, you can't leave!" She called out sharply, loud enough to be heard over the general murmur of the E.R. and put a restraining hand on his arm.

David saw no way to finesse his way out of this situation, so he simply plowed right by her and sprinted for the door. "Sir! Sir!" the nurse called after him, "Sir, please, you can't leave!" Paying her no mind, David pushed through the glass doors and burst out into the waiting room where he drew every eye in the place. Without a pause he dashed for the outside doors, but a large orderly spotted him and set himself on an intercept course.

"Woah, fella, just calm down..." The guy yelled, making a grab for him. Not knowing what else to do, David lowered his shoulder and drove it into the big man's rock-hard abdomen, doubling him over and sending him sprawling back on his ass like he was a featherweight.

"Sorry," David called, leaping over the guy and hitting the outside doors at top speed. He shoved through and out into the night, illuminated by the flashing lights of a nearby ambulance. Not caring where he went as long as it was away from here, he took to his heels and sprinted down the walkway and out toward the street. He was about to dash across when a battered, beige Chevy suddenly pealed out of the parking lot and screeched up next to him, the door flying open.

"Get in!" came the command, and in the dome light of the car David could see it was a thin woman with long, lanky black hair and rather sunken features, dressed in a green military style jacket. "I'm a friend!" David pulled up short and looked over his shoulder to see a uniformed police officer running down the sidewalk toward him brandishing a flashlight. The sight of the cop was enough of a motivator to accept the strange woman's invitation, but he still hesitated for a second, calculating his options. Finding them extremely lacking, he threw himself into the passenger seat and the car screeched away from the curb before he even got the door fully closed.

"Thank you," David said peering behind them for signs of pursuit. "Who are you?"

"I'm someone who knows what you're going through," was her reply.

"Well, I sure wish someone would explain it to me!"

"Just sit tight, David, I've got a safe place we can go. And before you ask, I know your name because she told it to me." She steered hard through a turn and slowed her speed so as not to attract attention.

"She?" David asked with a sinking feeling in his gut. "Who's she?"

"You know who. Angelique. She sent me to find you, so that's what I did. Sorry I didn't get here earlier, looks like I missed some action. Do you know if anybody ID'd you?"

"ID'd me, why? I don't know, I don't think so." David said.

"That's good. We usually try to keep a low profile, it's safer that way." The thin woman directed the car southward sticking to darker side roads as they went.

"You're playing the pronoun game, who's 'We'"?

"People like us. People like you and me. People Angelique has touched." Her tone was matter of fact.

"What the HELL did she do to me?" David demanded, suddenly furious.

"That is a very long story, and I promise you'll get all of it you want to hear, okay? Just chill out, David, I mean it when I say I'm here to help. But I've got to take you somewhere first, Angelique wants to see you." She sounded a little regretful to share this news.

"Well, let's say I don't want to see her, what happens then? Will you stop the car and let me out?" he asked.

"I will if you want, but that just means she'll come to you, and you really don't want that. And I think you need to hear what we have to say. Keep on the way you are and you're likely to get hurt."

"Again, you mean. I was fucking shot today!" David realized his bare chest was still adorned with gauze pressure bandages and he angrily peeled them off and tossed them to the floor of the car. He counted six bullet wounds he could see, at least two of them positioned in such a way that they could or should have been fatal. Yet he wasn't bleeding, and each hole appeared to be well into the healing process. David wondered how many bullets he was currently carrying around inside his body, then decided he didn't want to know.

The woman was driving them toward south Seattle, sticking to the side streets. It was the wee hours of the morning now and there were few other cars on the road. For the hundredth time tonight, David knew he was doing something spectacularly crazy and self-destructive but saw little other avenue. His entire world felt out of control, and he suddenly wondered how long it had been since he'd taken his psych meds, or even a lousy tranquilizer. Great, David could add antidepressant crash to the list of things malfunctioning tonight.

"What's your name?" David finally asked her.

"Roach."

"Roach?" This earned raised eyebrows. "Will you tell me where we're going at least?"

"It's a friend's house a couple of us use. It's somewhere safe to go if you need one and trust me that you probably will sooner or later. So, keep your mouth shut about it, 'kay? Safe places are getting harder and harder to come by."

"A couple, how many are there of you?" David asked.

"There are a lot of people Angelique has claimed, but most of them you wouldn't want to have tea with. We're scattered all over the place, but she calls us all together when she wants to. Whenever she wants to be worshipped."

"Worshipped? Why did she...? What did she...? What IS she?" David sputtered, feeling totally overwhelmed by his own questions, none of which he had a satisfactory answer to yet.

"She's Angelique," Roach said with a shrug. "I'm not sure what she is. I'm not sure SHE'S sure what she is any more, because there's no one else like her. But she's powerful, David, and more dangerous than you can imagine. I don't know why she picked you, I don't know why she does anything she does. But she did. She chose you, and changed you, and now you belong to her. We all do." Her voice was tinged with bitterness.

As David turned this over in his head, his mind went back to his nightmare. The shockingly beautiful woman with a pussy full of needle-sharp teeth, and her loathsome tongue raping his digestive tract. He swallowed, remembering how it had wormed its way down his esophagus and horribly began to spurt something deep into his guts. Her vile ichor had invaded him, maybe even inseminated him, and David suddenly felt very much like vomiting. He swallowed again and tasted bile, his hand covering his mouth, and only managed to choke out a feeble, "Oh my God..."

"Yeah," Roach said with a note of sympathy in her voice.

David found he couldn't speak again and the two lapsed into silence. Gradually they wound toward Beacon Hill and up into its suburban neighborhoods that grew higher class the farther up they went. It was near the north peak that they turned onto a tree-lined street and pulled to a stop in front of a two and a half story Queen Anne style house that enjoyed a spectacular view of downtown Seattle. Roach parked and made to get out of the car when David stopped her with a touch on her arm. "Tell me the truth," he asked. "Am I in danger?"

"Yeah. But not from me." Roach exited the car and stood waiting until David joined her, then she led him across the neatly trimmed lawn toward the house. Up the steps to the wraparound porch, and Roach unlocked and opened the front door, motioning David inside. He took a breath and squared his shoulders, batted away one last urge to turn and run, and stepped through the doorway into a small entrance hall. Beyond was a magnificent parlor, done in wood tones and maroon reds with several comfortable armchairs placed about a central coffee table. Only one of the chairs was currently occupied by a tall, brown skinned man who stood to greet them as they entered.

"Thanks Roach. You're David I presume?" His voice was deep and resonant with a tiny hint of accent that David couldn't identify. "Please come in and have a seat, I'm Lucas." He offered his hand to be shaken and David suddenly recognized his host. It was the crucified man who had been pincushioned to the wall back in that filthy black basement. He wore a sleeveless undershirt and large puckered scars could be seen everywhere he had been pierced, including one at the hollow of the throat that to David's eyes looked like a fatal wound. He was also a strikingly handsome man who was decorated from the top of his head to the tips of his fingers with the most complex mosaic of tattoos David had ever seen. Nearly every inch of his skin was covered with elaborate designs done in a 3D style that seemed to dance with his every motion. Lucas was lean but exceptionally well-toned, with his muscles standing out in stark relief by the lamplight of the parlor. He didn't smile but his eyes were deep and warm, welcoming with a tinge of sadness.

Roach shrugged out of her green army coat to reveal a black t-shirt featuring a death metal band David had never heard of, and flopped down in one of the chairs, sitting sideways with her combat boots dangling over the cushioned arm. Lucas sat back down and motioned for David to do the same. "Okay," David said, settling into his seat. "I'm here. Whatever you've got to say, I will listen to you. I saw you the other night and I don't know how either of us can be alive, frankly. So maybe we can start there?"

"You're going to discover a lot has changed about yourself, David," Lucas said, lighting up a long black cigarette that smelled like cloves. "In fact, over the years we've spent many long nights here discussing how we're able to do what we do. Everyone seems to have their own favorite theory, but the how of it doesn't matter. You're different now, David. You're like us. Can I offer you something to drink?"

"I suppose I might as well, I have a feeling that I'm going to need it," David said, feeling a deep pang of guilt at how far he was falling off the wagon. "Whatever you've got." Lucas rose smoothly from his seat and crossed to an ornate and well-stocked wet bar installed along one wall of the parlor. He quickly prepared a scotch and soda and returned to his seat to offer it to David. David took a bracing drink and found it to be some of the best scotch he'd ever tasted, going down smooth as silk to create a calming sensation of warmth in his stomach. He took another sip and regarded the other two seriously. "So this... all this is something that woman did you to? To us?"

"Yes, and I'm sorry to say there is no going back. Not for any of us, and yes, it's been tried. Angelique put part of herself into us and we now possess a small portion of her power. It makes us more useful." His deep voice betrayed a heavy bitterness at this.

"Jesus Christ, what is she? Is she a demon or a vampire or something?" David remembered the woman's bizarre anatomy and felt like he was going to be sick again.

"Could be either one. Or maybe she's both, it's impossible to say. She drinks blood, we know that much. Indeed, her hunger for it can never be satisfied, and part of her unnatural hunger has been given to you as well." Lucas inhaled deeply off his cigarette and gave David time to absorb this.

"Oh God, the guys at the club," David said half to himself. "I attacked a couple of people tonight, I don't know why I did it. I've never lost control like that in my life, but I felt like... Like I wanted to kill them. I took a bite out of one of them." He thought about adding, and swallowed it, but wasn't quite ready to think about that little factoid yet.

"It's a curse," Roach said. "It affects all of us, but some of us worse than others. Way too many of us completely regress over time, you've seen them."

"The crazy people in the basement... the ones who were..." The gruesome cannibal feast-slash-orgy reared in his imagination, and he shuddered hard.