Turned By Him

Eliza’s knees gave out from beneath her. What strength she could muster through her weakness was overwhelmed by crushing grief. She took in deep breaths as her sobs choked in her dry throat. She felt nauseous. Her stomach turned at the sight of her friend’s father, her friend, slouched in death. Still, the low bass note of suffering hummed through his lips. It was a message too hopeless or proud to exasperate.

 Eliza knelt helplessly in a huddled mass of sadness. And still, the hunger pulled from within her. The iron thick smell of blood flooded Eliza’s nostrils. She could feel the tug of starvation, the recoil to her weakness. She could stop herself. Through the pain and fear and sadness the hunger ate away at her attention. In a single motion, she lifted herself from the floor and was in front of George’s body. To her surprise, she could still hear the shallow gurgling of his lungs drawing air. He was alive, if only for a few moments more. “Why George?” Eliza pleaded with him. He gave not motion of acknowledgment or sound to respond.

Mirana’s cold description rang in Eliza’s mind. Eliza shoved herself away from George and paced across the room. On the table there was a note written on several pages of yellow note paper. Written at the head of one of the notes was “Deliver this message to Eliza Bathurst 228 apt. 135 26th avenue New York City.” As Eliza’s eyes scanned the note, they welled with tears.

It read: ‘Dear Eliza
 You have always been like a daughter to me. I love you so much. I must confess, I know what you have been afflicted with. Many doctors are aware of the horrible results such an infection will necessarily incur. I am heartbroken that I would lose both of my girls in the same week. My failure to you, to your father and to Heather is too much shame for me to bear. I swore to protect you. I cannot live without my girls. Since my wife’s death, you two have been the only thing in the world which brings me happiness. Please forgive me for what I’ve done. ‘

The letter was signed “George.”

Eliza’s sadness seemed so overwhelming that with every word she read, it felt as though blades raked across her chest. She heaved deep sobs and felt the room begin to spin. Falling to her knees, Eliza vomited. A viscous and unappetizing mixture of hot chocolate and blood dripped and swirled in a black puddle. Tears ran down Eliza’s cheeks. Chills ran up her spine causing her to twitch. She had never felt so miserable, so empty.

Eliza looked over at George. “It wasn’t you,” she choked between snot filled sobs. Again the hunger announced itself through her sorrow. “I can’t,” Eliza pleaded with herself. She crossed her arms over her stomach and moaned. She closed her eyes and tried to block out the pain, when she opened them again however, she was standing over George. She was so hungry. Eliza felt a nagging in her mind. “I can’t,” she said aloud. “I can’t.”

She did though. Eliza swallowed another deep cry and leaned over George. She didn’t know if he was still alive or not, if it would save her or not. All Eliza knew was that she couldn’t ignore the hunger any longer. She couldn’t bear the weakness any longer. Eliza drank in the thick blood. She started by lapping at the blood which had pooled around George. It was cold however, and Eliza knew that she needed the warmth. She thirsted for it. Looking at George’s body, Eliza could see the exit wound the bullet had made. She thought she would feel ill at the sight of such gore but found it irresistibly appealing. “I’m sorry,” she whispered before sinking her teeth deep into his neck. Eliza could feel the warm flesh pressed against her lips and hot blood filled her mouth and spilled down her throat. She slurped and drank all she could. Sweating severely, Eliza felt alive with a primal energy. She could feel herself become wet and aroused. Her body began to twitch on its own, writhing and reeling as she felt the rush of her first blood.

Eliza wanted to push away; she wanted to free herself from this moment of weakness, of shame. But she continued to drink her fill. After a few moments, George was clearly dead and the blood within him became noticeably cooler. “What have I done,” Eliza muttered as she pulled away. Wiping the blood on her sleeve, Eliza made for the door. She needed to see Tom.