The Renfield Syndrome Ch. 08

The Renfield Syndrome (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

CHAPTER 8

David wandered the dark streets of Seattle in a drunken stupor. He had little idea of where he was or what time it might be, if he was being pursued or not, or where he thought he was going. He wasn't even sure where he had procured the pint of vodka in his hand, and he took another drink from it in desperation. It wasn't that David thought alcohol would improve things, rather he was on a tour of self-destruction. If he couldn't die by blades or bullets, maybe he could still drink himself to death.

David remembered everything with crystal clarity, no matter how many layers of booze-induced fog he tried to put between himself and his memories. The Beast had gorged itself and then retreated to sleep off its terrible meal, leaving David to cope with what he had done. But worse than remembering his unthinkable actions was remembering how it felt as he was doing them. The rush of power, the joy of punishing his enemies and coming out the victor, the ambrosial taste of human meat as his reward. It had made him feel godlike, leagues beyond any drug he ever tried in his life. He had felt wonderfully dangerous, the predator amongst sheep, invincible and unstoppable. It was the ultimate role reversal, he was the figure of fear while his enemies cowered before him. It was heady stuff.

His man-mind however wasn't nearly as enthusiastic about the fact that he was officially a murderer and a cannibal now, and one with a witness at that. David was no master criminal and he knew squat about avoiding the police, and now he was afraid to go home as they could be waiting for him. He surely had left DNA and fingerprints all over the ghastly crime scene, the Beast had made no effort whatsoever to cover his tracks. It was probably a matter of minutes before they closed in to take him off the streets, and no doubt they had a very small, dark cell waiting for a human monster like David. A dark cell that he would be alive in for a very very long time.

It had begun to rain again, but David was glad of it this time. His clothes were sticky with blood, both his own and other people's, and he pulled his shirt over his head and off. The stab wound in his abdomen was scabbed over and would soon be another scar added to his growing collection. The more serious sucking wound in his side had stopped whistling air quickly and was likewise well on its way to healing over. David took another drink from the bottle and stood shirtless with his face cast upward, letting the rain wash the blood and gore away, if not his crimes. Never his crimes.

Not wanting to put the foul thing back on, David tossed his ruined t-shirt into a nearby garbage can and resumed his directionless staggering. The bottle was almost gone and hitting him like a tank, and David's stomach protested at every swallow he took, threatening to hurl it back up along with a belly full of acid. He hiccupped and held his breath, forcing himself to keep his gorge down, and succeeded but just barely. A car turned down the rainy street, and David waited to see if red and blue lights came on, fully prepared to surrender and confess everything. But it wasn't the police and for now he remained unmolested. He continued on his way walking nowhere near a straight line, in and out of pockets of darkness created by the streetlights, not bothering to hide himself. Getting picked up by the law was an inevitability.

And even if he somehow evaded capture, there was an even darker future ahead of him. David thought back to the black basement beneath the city he'd been taken to and the filthy and savage people there. The ones Roach called the ferals. Was David destined to join them? Covered in his own ordure, rutting away in the darkness, and eating whatever meat Angelique decided to throw? Judging from his actions tonight, that was his destiny, and that was a future more terrifying than an immortal life in prison. And David had no idea how to turn away from it.

Turn yourself in. The obvious solution was as simple as you could get. Find a cop and tell them everything. You're not a criminal, you're not cut out for a life on the run. Plead insanity, that's the truth anyway. Maybe someone could help you. Even cure you.

He reached the end of the block and a four-way intersection, the traffic light dutifully signaling red. Without a pause or a glance in either direction, David staggered into the street to find himself blinded by oncoming headlights. There was a shrieking wail of tires as a lone car screeched to a halt, missing him by inches and David made no move to dodge out of the way. The horn rudely blared as the driver shouted something most unkind. Feeling disappointed, David trudged on without looking at him, taking another drink and grimacing at a fresh wave of nausea.

He paused and leaned against a light post, resting his burning forehead against the cold metal. His stomach burbled sickeningly as his system rebelled against what he was putting into it, and his mouth was flooded with saliva. David half spat and half drooled it out and fought to keep his roiling stomach under control. The outcome of this battle, alas, was as inevitable as everything else. Acid seared its way up his throat and he bent double to noisily empty the contents of his stomach into the gutter in all their crimson glory. The sight of the bloody vomitus made David feel even sicker and his gut spasmed again, forcing him to belch up a second grisly wave. His nose and throat were clogged with it, filling his head with the unescapable stench of what he had done.

That's a person... David thought as he feebly wiped his mouth, his eyes streaming so badly it rendered the world a blur. That's a fucking person you just threw up. You deserve to be in prison, you sick fuck. You deserve to be locked up far away from everyone so you can never hurt anyone again.

"What are you?" David demanded of himself out loud, his soul filled with loathing at what he had become. At what he might yet become. "What the fuck are you?" He looked at the vodka bottle in anger and flung it into the street where it shattered, spilling what little remained inside. He remained leaning against the light post until he was reasonably sure that he wasn't going to barf again, then put his back to it and slid down until he was sitting on the ground, his ass landing in the gory puddle of his own sick. David let his head loll between his knees and whispered, "What are you?" to himself again, arriving once more at the same devastating answer. A monster. A savage. A feral. A Beast.

A safe place to go if you need it... Roach's voice fought its way to the surface of the roiling ocean of David's thoughts. You're welcome to visit... We try to look after each other...

His mind grabbed onto the thought like a life preserver. The offer had been made and David didn't know when he ever needed a safe place more than he did right now. It was at least a destination, and the alternative was passing out here in the street and hoping the police caught him before he woke up. Turn yourself in, his inner voice continued to insist. Do the right thing for yourself and the rest of the world. You don't want to live like this. But suddenly, David very much wanted to see Lucas again, if only to certify that there truly was no shred of hope left.

With some effort, David pulled himself to his feet and oriented himself as best he could. He still had no idea where he was, but he picked the direction that seemed likeliest and set off, walking as fast as he could without causing too much extra stomach distress. The alcoholic fog in his head was blinding, reducing his perception to tunnel vision and requiring all his concentration to keep putting one foot in front of the other. But he had a goal now, and that was enough to keep him moving stubbornly forward. David even managed to break into an awkward staggering run as he caught sight of enough of the Seattle skyline to deduce his rough location, and he oriented himself south, aiming for more populated areas.

*****

By the time David reached the heights of Beacon Hill, the alcohol-induced fog in his head had receded somewhat and his gut was feeling more cooperative, though by no means steady. He'd put down enough booze in the last twelve hours that he should be passed out and puking, but instead David felt rather alert. He pondered that being drunk was essentially a mild case of poisoning, and perhaps his body recovered unusually fast from this too. David wasn't sure he liked that idea.

Lucas' house looked inviting, and the parlor and porch lights were on giving a warm, homey glow. The man clearly enjoyed flowers as his gardens were abundant and immaculately kept, accenting the beauty of the house itself. A person had to be quite wealthy to maintain a home in this neighborhood, and the cherry red luxury Audi in the driveway was another giveaway of its owner's affluence. David crossed the manicured lawn and stepped up onto the wraparound porch. A press of the doorbell caused soft chimes to sound from inside, and David realized that he could smell Lucas coming on the other side of the door. His musky aroma tinged with spice was unmistakable.

"David," Lucas greeted him as he opened the door. If he was surprised to see David on his doorstep in the wee hours of the morning, shirtless, bloody, and drenched from the rain, he didn't show it. "Please, come in." There was concern in his voice, and rather than stepping aside so David could enter, Lucas took him by the arm and helped him inside, closing the door behind them. The lights in the parlor were dimmed and some alternative rock selection was playing softly. Fragrant smoke hung in the air with the obvious source being a large and ornate hookah sitting on the central table. "David, you look terrible. Let me get you a towel."

"Thank you," David said with genuine gratitude. "I didn't know where else to go. Something awful happened. Lucas, I... I did something really bad."

"You are safe and welcome here, please come in and sit." The handsome and heavily tattooed man urged him toward the sofa and retrieved a large, fluffy towel from his bathroom. Giving it to David, he took a seat in the chair next to him and leaned forward looking at him seriously.

"What happened, David? You can tell me, I can smell that it wasn't good." His brown eyes were warm and full of concern, and his accented voice was melodious to listen to.

David mopped his dripping face and hair with the towel and decided to cut right to the hard part. If Lucas' sense of smell was anything like David's, he already knew what happened anyway. David reeked of death, even to himself. "Lucas, I killed someone tonight. Three someones. I couldn't stop myself, I didn't want to stop myself, I just... did it. I did it with my bare hands and when they were dead I..." He felt sick again, this time not from alcohol but from the memory of sinking his teeth into the dying skinhead's flesh and tearing out huge, bloody chunks to wolf down. He gagged and held the towel to his mouth as he fought off a fierce wave of nausea. Without comment, Lucas fetched a wastebasket and placed it within David's reach, then sat down on the sofa next to him rather than retaking his chair.

"I understand, David," Lucas said with a tinge of sorrow in his voice, laying a hand on David's shoulder. "I know the hunger all too well. You're not alone because sooner or later, all of us will kill someone we didn't intend to."

"No, that's the problem, I did intend to do it!" David said with urgency. "I wanted to do it, I was totally in control the whole time. It felt so... so..."

"Natural?" Lucas produced one of his long black cigarettes from a fancy case and lit up, exhaling a fragrant cloud into the already smoky air.

"Yes!" David said. "It's like I've got this thing inside me, something... savage. Evil. A Beast. Only it doesn't take control of me, it makes me want to do awful things. Those three guys tonight... it makes me sick what I did to them. But while I was doing it, it felt... good. It felt right." David couldn't suppress a shudder of self-loathing.

"I know, David. The curse of the hunger is part of what Angelique puts inside of us. It's the part of us that will always belong to her. It lives in all of us, everyone has their own name for it. It will be with us every day of our lives and it only grows stronger as time goes on. Tea?" The man's deep voice was soothing.

"Huh? Oh uh, yes thank you." David took a deep breath, trying to steady himself and imitate Lucas' peaceful demeanor. "So, what can I do? How can I fight this thing? Am I going to turn into one of... them?"

"The feral ones? It's always a danger." Lucas poured a cup of fragrant tea from an elegant fine china service and pressed it into David's trembling hands. "And because it is always a danger, each one of us must remain forever vigilant. None have ever come back once their humanity is lost, and the hunger will chip away at it every time it overcomes you."

"So how do I fight it?" David asked again, taking a sip of the calming tea in his cup. "I don't want to be like that. I don't want to hurt anyone. Lucas, I'm not a killer!"

"There's not a guidebook, David," Lucas said, taking another long drag and exhaling toward the ceiling. "What you're asking has no simple answer. I've been grappling with that same question for centuries and still the nightly struggle goes on. It's something that's very personal to each of us, how we reconcile with the hunger. With the Beast as you called it."

David pondered this as he looked around the warm and elegant parlor and regarded his host. Lucas was so far separated from one of the ferals, they could hardly be called the same species. He was gentle and poised, polite to a fault with an air of high class and culture. "How long have you been like this?" David asked, trying to steady his voice and failing.

"I met Angelique on a ship bound for New Orleans when it was still owned by the Spanish. I was fleeing war and slavery in Haiti, and I was one of many. I was much like you, David, my only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She took a fancy to me and several others, and by the time the voyage was through I had become hers and helped her butcher the rest of the people on board. I've belonged to Angelique ever since. We have a singularly unique relationship."

"Oh God," David said, imagining the span of years in servitude. "But still, you've never become like them. You've never..."

"Regressed? Devolved? Not completely, but I have more stains on my soul than you can imagine. I believe part of our appeal for Angelique is that she gets to watch the curse destroy us. She's been known to prey on people who would find the transformation especially traumatic. She finds us amusing and that is, after all, our primary purpose."

"To amuse her?" David asked hopelessly.

"Indeed. She has expressed to me many times the monotony that comes with eternal life. She is a hateful creature, but a lonely one nonetheless, and so she creates us to share in her torment." Lucas' tone was light, but his eyes were sad.

"Jesus Christ, how old is she? Has anybody ever escaped her?"

"That's two questions, David. To answer the first, I don't know. I don't believe Angelique herself knows, I'm quite sure she's forgotten. But I've heard her speak of the fall of Carthage, it irked her greatly as she was fond of it. She may be older than Christianity. She may predate recorded history for all anyone knows." Lucas inhaled deeply off his cigarette and exhaled with a heavy sigh. "To answer your second question, the only escape is death, as she has gone out of her way to remind me recently."

"The guy in the basement," David said, remembering. "I'm so sorry, Roach said you were close."

"Aaron, yes." Lucas closed his eyes. "We were indeed... close. Quite close. He was young, he had been with us for less than a year. But I made a tragic mistake, you see, arguably the worst mistake I could have made. I fell for him, and Angelique is ever the jealous lover."

David didn't know what to say to this. The pain in Lucas' voice was obvious and he felt a deep pang of sympathy for this man who had watched Belial the Butcher chop his lover apart before his eyes. To say I'm sorry sounded beyond lame, so instead he said, "It's terrible to lose someone."

Lucas nodded, and the tip of his cigarette glowed brightly as he inhaled. "To get back to your earlier question, I believe how long one of us can retain our humanity comes down to one thing. How much do we want to be human? I know I don't have to tell you how seductive the Beast is, how easy it is to give in to it. It promises power and freedom and joyous catharsis, but those promises are lies. It cares only for itself and its own gratification. The Beast is selfish, David, and it will give you nothing that it doesn't extract a thousand times the price for."

David thought about this and said, "I guess I'd be lying if I said I haven't spent a whole lot of time wishing I didn't have to be human anymore. Maybe everyone does."

"Exactly, David. And it's for that reason that so many of us surrender and become one of the ferals. I have seen it happen thousands of times, and it is the darkest fate I can imagine. But at the same time, I suppose they are happy in their way. They do have everything they want."

David shuddered. "When I was here last night... When she was here... All I wanted was her. It was like the Beast wanted her, and again it felt so fucking natural. I couldn't even try to resist."

"Our hunger for Angelique herself is the greatest curse she places on us," Lucas said. "It's very effective at keeping us obedient. Most don't bother to resist at all, and the few who do face horrible consequences. It requires tremendous force of will that very few possess. I believe that human society actively trains the citizenry to be weak-willed, but Angelique considers it an inborn trait of the species. But that's another conversation."

"Has anyone ever tried to... you know... kill her?" David ventured.

Lucas snubbed out his cigarette in a marble ash tray and gave David a serious look. "That's not a question that is safe to ask, David. She has means of hearing what her servants say. It is not something that is safe to think privately about, Angelique can read your heart. Many an unfortunate soul has suffered for the crime of trying to keep a secret from her, she loathes them. And for your own sake, make certain that nothing you ever say to her is a lie."

David gulped and looked nervously around the parlor as a wave of paranoia surged over him. "Okay, I get it. Is there anything else I should know about her, aside from everything?"

"Just know and understand that she wields magic. Ancient magic from times and places that have never been recorded by human hands. I don't believe I have even seen the full extent of her power. If you value yourself, never doubt her and give her no reason to demonstrate. Angelique is... cruel." Lucas closed his eyes again and when he opened them, they shone in the dim light of the parlor.