RED AS ANGER, RED AS BLOOD

By Karen Mason-Richardson

She was high again tonight.

He had scented this drug before; a white powder sold in hiddencorners and back alleys at night. A poison people killed for. Thedrug was very expensive - something that she seldom could afford. Thesour glaze of cocaine was a harsh underscore to the usual unpleasanttang of old sweat, cheap perfume, andstale tobacco.

Business must have been good last night.

Very good.

It was a habit now, checking in on her. She was always here, everynight, huddled beneath the Clarence Avenue sign, waving to drivers asthey passed her by, walking over to chat if they stopped. Sometimesshe got into the cars. Within an hour or so she always returned toher corner, her personal territory, smelling strongly of the lastperson she had driven away with. Or more.

She was shivering in the late fall breeze.

Shivering? It was so hot tonight…

A thin and ragged gray tabby slid around the corner and brushedagainst his legs in greeting before jumping up into the overfilledalley dumpster behind him. Papers rustled and plastic crinkled as thetom hunted for any scrap of food in the trash.

The corner streetlight flickered, dying for a few seconds beforestruggling back to life. Beneath its unhealthy glow her dress shone.She was wearing the sparkly red one tonight.

Red as anger… red as blood.

* * * * * *

"Vincent?"

His chamber was dark. The soft glow from behind the half-circlestained glass window was uncharacteristically absent.

Father raised his lantern and scanned the interior. The light caststark shadows onto rough stone &emdash; twisted and malformed shapesthat danced menacingly upon the walls and ceiling as he advancedfurther into the chamber. A chamber that had always been a welcomingone, lit by golden candlelight. No more. Not since…

"Vincent?"

There! A movement in the shadows from the far reaches of thechamber, a reflected glare of eyes catching the light.

Father lifted his lantern and took a few steps closer.

"Come no further!"

Vincent's tone was adamant, even with the adolescent crack at theend.

Carefully Father set the lamp on the table and examined thechamber. It was a disaster &emdash; broken glass littered the floor,furniture had been overturned. Deep claw marks furrowed through thetop of a wooden table.

Usually when his son was upset about something he needed time.Time to think, to rationalize, and to come to terms with thedifficulties inherent in his life, in his differences.

This time, perhaps leaving him alone had been a mistake.

"Everyone has begun to worry about you. At dinner last night,Willia-

"Leave me alone!"

Father sighed and ran a hand through graying hair. All adolescentswere at times difficult. He understood that. But… how to handlethis mess?

"Vincent, are such dramatics really necessary? I thought we talkedabout this already. Lisa is-"

With a rough snarl, Vincent lurched to his feet and turned towardshim. White fangs gleamed dully in the lantern light.

"Never, NEVER say her name again!"

Father watched his son as began to pace in a tight circle. It wasstrange to realize just how much he had grown in the last year. Hewas almost tall enough to look him in the eye. In another few years,if this growth spurt continued… "I know you're upset about thegirl but surely by now you realize why I had to intervene. Youcan't-

"SILENCE!" Vincent shouted, covering his ears in denial. "I knowwhat you think! You've told me time and time again, in deeds AND inwords. 'Such things are not for me.'" Vincent whirled and glared athim. Tension shook his frame like a bow strung too tightly, waitingto break. "Why, Father? Why do I have to be different? Why me? Whythis?"

Father's eyes widened in horror as lamplight finally illuminatedhis son completely, giving the first good look since he left thischamber last night. The favorite shirt was torn to ribbons across thearms and chest, stained with dried blood. Vincent's eyes were wildand feverishly bright. A film of sweat glistened on his face.

"Dear God, are you ill? Let me look at you." Father lifted thelantern and approached his son, who winced and squinted in thebrightening light. A quick hand to the forehead was all he needed toconfirm his misgivings. "You're running a fever. You need to lie downnow while I fetch my medicines."

An iron grip closed on his wrist like manacles, stopping him frommoving. "You haven't answered my question."

Father glanced down and caught his breath. The eyes of a strangerbore into him, dark, sly, and justslightly malicious. He felt a ring of needle pricks on his wrist asVincent's grip shifted.

"It… it doesn't matter now, the problem has taken care ofitself. She's gone. She left several days ago."

Vincent blinked and slacked his grip enough so he could pull free."Gone? Where?"

Carefully Father backed up a step, placed the lantern on thescarred tabletop and rubbed his wrist gingerly. "I don't know."

Vincent stood silent, panting. "It's because of me. She's afraidof ME!" Slowly he turned away, dropping his head into his hands. "Isaw it in her eyes, Father. Before she… before I hurt her. Shesaw the same thing you did. Something that wasn't even close to aman. A beast. An animal. That's what you both saw. That's what youBOTH feared."

He hadn't ever wanted to say that, to even hint that when his sonturned on him, claws upraised, he had felt a knife of panic, a flashof instinctive, paralyzing terror. For one brief moment he had indeedgazed into the eyes of… something else. "Vincent, I… ofcourse I realize that you're upset about this, but if you try to lookat this in the light of reason, I think…"

A deep, rumbling snarl of menace stopped his words, a growl thatrevealed nothing of its adolescent origin. Vincent turned and staredat him, eyes fever bright. He squinted once more against the lanternlight, narrowed eyes giving him an unfamiliar, feral look. "Light ofreason?" In two fluid strides Vincent seized the sturdy wooden tableand hurled it against the far wall. Thick hardwood splintered intokindling with a booming crash. The lantern flew into the air thenshattered on the floor with a snap and flare of igniting oil. Flamespread over the sandy floor and began to wane.

Vincent turned and paced towards the door. In the fading light hismovements had the sleek fluidity of a predator. Flames flickered anddied. An uneasy cloak of darkness settled over the room.

"Beasts have no need of light, Father." The voice was smooth andeven, filling the room with conviction.

Father groped blindly forward. His call for help froze in hischest as hot breath seemed to scald the back of his neck. "Neither dothey have need for reason," Vincent whispered ominously from mereinches away.

Merciful God, he hadn't even heard him move! Heart pounding,Father found his voice at last. "Vincent, stop this behavior atonce!"

"Vincent?"

"Vincent!!"

* * * * * *

It was one of the furthest reaches of his territory, this corner.He did have a territory of a sort. In the last months, it hadestablished itself as a maze of back alleys, rooftops and subwaypassages. Wandering this course, observing the tide ofhumanity, helped calm the restlessness.He saw much more of the world now, parts he liked and parts he didnot understand.

This was a part he did not understand.

The long white car slowed and stopped in front of her. This personshe did not go away with or wave to. This person took things fromher, scared her. Three men got out of the car and walked up to her,the normal blond one and two others.

"Hey, Tricia, how's tricks?"

The woman looked down and shifted nervously. "Not too good, Kit. Idon't have much for you tonight."

"How much is not much, baby?"

She reached into her purse, only to have her hands roughly flungaside and the little handbag yanked from her arm, breaking the thinstrap.

"Hey, that was new!"

"Shut up." Big hands opened the bag and pulled out two bills."Twenty bucks? That's IT?"

"Like I said, business was bad last night. I didn't &emdash; ow!Let go!" One of the new men grabbed her by the arm and she pulledineffectually against his grip.

Vincent felt a quiet growl shiver through his chest. Theyshouldn't be holding her like that. He knew. They could hurther…

"Easy on her, Tony. She don't deserve any rough stuff, do you,sweetheart?" The man called Kit leaned over and put his arm aroundher thin shoulders. "Not my little moneymaker, right, darlin?"

"Yeah, that's right," she replied, fear shaking her voice.

"So, Tricia, how many prostitutes does it take to change a lightbulb?" The man called Tony grinned down at her.

"Ummmm, I don't know. How many?"

"Who needs lights?" The three men chuckled quietly, mocking andsomehow ominous. "Eh? Who needs lights? Get it? Ah, whatever. Comehere, let's you and me talk for a minute." Firmly, Kit guided heraway from the corner, towards the mouth of the alley, the other twofollowing several feet behind.

Vincent shrank back into the shadows as they approached and frozeas something cracked under his feet: an old turkey drumstick bone,tossed from the trash by the alley cat. Swiftly he ducked behind thedumpster, poised to scale the wall if it became necessary. Beside hima gray shadow silently hit the ground and fled the sceneentirely.

A bead of sweat dripped from his forehead, stung his eyes. Why wasit was so hot tonight?

"…and last month you were down by over half. This month isn'tany better. What's going on, Tricia?"

"I dunno, it's just been slow."

"See, I'm finding that a bit hard to believe. Tony's friend, hesays he saw you take a couple rides just last night and one of themlooked plenty well off." The voices rounded the corner and echoedfaintly in the alleyway. "But now you're telling me different. Thatmakes me think you might be lying to me, Tricia. You know how much Ihate being made a fool of by one of my girls."

The dull thud of a body slamming against masonry was quicklyfollowed by a strangled gasp. "What did you do with the money?"Fabric tore in the darkness. "Hey, what's this now?"

"That's mine! Leave it alone!"

"Bitch is on something, boss, check it out." Plastic rustledquietly, followed by a smacking, appreciative sound. "Good stuff,too. Must'a cost a bomb."

"Some John gave it to me. I didn't think it was enough for you tobother with-"

A sharp slap of a palm against flesh cracked through the alley."So, that's what you've been doing with my money, huh? Snorting itup!"

"Glenda's been wanting this corner for the last month or so, boss.What d'ya think, maybe it should come available or something?"

"Good idea. Cut our losses. This one's getting a bit long in thetooth anyway, wouldn't hurt to have some fresh blood on thiscorner."

"Wanna pop her here?"

A scream was cut off almost before it began, followed by themuffled sound of struggling.

"Yeah, but how about a last turn around the block for ol'Triciahere before we replace her?"

The rustle of clothing followed the grind of a zipper lowering.Muted male laughter slithered from the other side of the dumpster. Afall of shiny red fabric settled gracefully over the muck of thealley, one corner visible from his hiding place behind the dumpster.The woman fell roughly over it onto her hands and knees, white skinglowing faintly in the dim light. Hands held her shoulders, a knifeto her throat.

"There you go. Be a good girl now and maybe we'll make itquick."

A bead of blood flowed down the knife and dripped off onto thefabric, a dark spot that dulled the shimmer of the bright reddress.

Red as the blood on Lisa's shoulders. Red as the blood on hishands.

Red as anger.

With an economical explosion of movement, Vincent reached forwardand seized the head of the man called Tony, claws sinking deep intohis neck. Flesh tore as he flung the body off the woman into thealley wall. A muffled crunch of bone preceded the lifeless form'sslide to the floor. Two leaps and the second man's scream of terrordied in a bubbling cough as razor sharp claws slammed into his chest,tearing out and down, sundering cartilage and flesh like paper.

At the valley mouth, the third man stumbled back, and drew apistol. Shaking hands held it out and pulled the trigger.

The bullet slammed into Vincent's leg, dropping him to one knee inshock and pain. Still brandishing the gun, the man backed up to thewhite car. Vincent could only watch and roar in frustration as thecar squealed into life and shot away down the street.

Quiet fell once more over the alleyway. Behind him, Vincent couldhear the woman gasping and sobbing in fear. He struggled to his feet,grunting against the scorching fire in his leg.

If only it wasn't so hot out tonight.

The woman was standing, clutching the shiny red fabric to herchest. Shaking. Carefully, whimpering inabject terror, she edged around him, eyes wide.

He should tell her everything was allright. That he wouldn't hurt her. But the hot rage was still strongand he couldn't think…

Reaching the alley mouth, she fled into the street, stumbling interror, clutching her red dress. Overhead, the streetlight once moreflickered and died.

Vincent turned and looked down at the two bodies strewn likeforgotten playthings on the alley floor. They would have hurt her. Itwas their blood, not hers, that glistened black in the darkness.

"Who needs lights?" he snarled and then roared his victory to theovercast night sky.

* * * * * *

Father shifted uncomfortably in the wooden chair, leaning to theside to ease the ache in his hip. Automatically he looked over to thestill form on the bed. His son.

Leather straps and chains held him in place. They had needed touse them; Vincent had been violent in his fevered delirium - a rabidanimal. He might have hurt himself further… or hurt someoneelse.

He had returned to the tunnels around three o'clock in themorning. The message had come across the pipes:

Vincent - 15^th Street entrance &emdash; hurtunconscious

It had taken three strong men to get him to the hospital chamber:two to carry him and one extra to help hold him down when he awokeand struggled. He was so strong…

Being the tunnel physician, of course Father had examined him whenhe finally was brought in. The wound in his leg was clear; a bulletmost likely had passed right through the muscles of his thigh. Nomajor damage, nothing that wouldn't heal.

Nothing that would have produced so much blood.

He had been covered in it. Face, hands, chest, all had beensoaked.

His clothes had been disposed of, burned in the heating brazier aweek ago, the day they brought him home. His wounds cleaned andtended. The others thought the blood was from his own self-inflictedclawing, the same that tore his shirt.

But… there hadn't been that much blood when he left thetunnels, and the self-inflicted wounds had not been reopened.

Father removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. There was no wayaround it. The blood was not Vincent's. But, if that was thecase… then whose?

With a sigh, he replaced the glasses and once again looked down atthe piece of newspaper on his lap. A piece from last week's localpaper, brought down by a helper who knew of Father's weakness forbaseball news. He'd had plenty of time to read it while sitting bythis bedside, otherwise the little side article would never havecaught his attention: an article about two men found dead in an alleynear Clarence Street. Torn apart by a wild animal, at least that wasthe closest explanation authorities could come up with. An eyewitnesshad phoned in anonymously, reporting of a huge monster that attackedtwo of his buddies. The person claimed he had shot at the monsterbefore fleeing for his life. Of course, his claims had been laughedoff. Monsters? Indeed.

Father glanced again at the clean white bandage around his son'sthigh that covered what looked very much like a bullet wound. Toomuch for comfort.

A muffled whimper from the bed beside him caught his attention andhe looked up into the blue eyes of his son.

"Vincent? How are you feeling?"

His lips opened and he coughed weakly. "Hot." After sipping waterfrom a cup, he cleared his throat. "It's hot."

"You're running a high fever. What happened to you?"

Vincent shook his head. "Don't know. I… remember… Lisa?Gone?"

"Yes, she is." Father squeezed out a cloth and wiped his son'sface. "You remember nothing since then?"

"No. Did… something happen to her?" Anxious, innocent eyeslooked in askance as the cloth was dipped once more, squeezed andplaced on the far too hot forehead. With a grateful sigh of relief,Vincent's eyes drifted closed once more.

Father glanced down at the piece of newspaper in his hand. "No,nothing important happened." Casually Father leaned over and droppedthe piece of newsprint into the heating brazier. The dry paperignited instantly and was reduced to ash in seconds.

Lisa. There was no proof, but he would lay odds that part of theblame for this… illness… could be placed directly at herfeet. Tempting, taunting, pushing him against limits that were setfor everyone's good. Stress piled on stress, pushing until hesnapped. Pushing until he was almost over the edge. All for the sakeof a self-indulgent, pretty girl's ego.

Never again. Not if he could help it.

"It's so hot."

"I know, son. I know. How about I read to you? Give us bothsomething to listen to." Father reached over to the pile of booksplaced on the table beside him. "Here, this is a good one. I don'tthink you've read it yet."

"It was the best of times, it was the worst oftimes…"