Turned By Him

Henry shot an irritated glance at Eliza. “A few and I’ll be an official part of NuBlood soon.” Eliza could feel Henry’s anger. “They are very selective.” Henry slid his hand up and down his neck.

“So,” Heather chimed in trying to ease the tension, “you’re working for them as some sort of promoter?”

Henry shook his head. “It’s not really broken down like that. There are several of us who come for the experience. Part of the privilege is increasing participation.” Henry’s words were barely understandable. It seemed that, despite there not being a drink in his hand, the medical student was becoming more inebriated as he spoke to them. “Several of us,” his story trailed off.

Casting a wary glance at Heather, Eliza sipped her drink down to the ice. “I think this may be a bit too trendy for me,” Eliza said hoping to break the long pause in the conversation which had officially become awkward. “Do you want a ride?” she asked her friend.

“I’ll take a cab,” Heather said. “I wish you’d stay.”

That seemed to sober Henry up enough to reengage with Heather in casual discussion. Eliza bid her friend a good evening and collected up her belongings. Leaving her glass on the counter and giving Devlin the bartender a courteous wave, Eliza made her way to the entrance.

As Eliza cautiously walked down the slick sidewalk to her car, she considered her decision to leave Heather. “She’s a big girl,” Eliza said aloud to herself. “She’ll be fine.” As the words escaped her, Eliza heard the bloodcurdling scream of a woman in distress. Eliza frantically surveyed the vacant street. Hearing another desperate cry for help, she began to move quickly in the direction of the yelling. Eliza reached into her purse and pulled out a small can of mace. As Eliza neared the intersection, she could hear muffled cries coming from an alley to her left. Eliza peered boldly down the unlit ally. “Hello,” she called. “Does somebody need help?” Eliza listened carefully but heard no response. She took a step toward the alley but made sure to keep from stepping into the shadows. Eliza could hear something rustling behind the piled bags of garbage. She couldn’t be sure but she could almost make out the silhouette of two figures huddled on the floor. Eliza yelled down the alley, “Hello! I’m calling the police.”

That changed everything. Eliza could see the dark shape move quickly toward her. Making no effort to be silent, the mass sprinted down the alley, footsteps echoing off the brick buildings. “Get back,” Eliza screamed holding the mace up. Taking a step back, Eliza could feel herself lose her footing on the ice and she tumbled backward into the street. A pale man with red hair was revealed by the orange glow of the streetlight as he darted from the shadows. “Get back,” Eliza screamed once more, trying to raise herself from the ground. It was already too late however, as her attacker was upon her. Before she even had time to use the can mace, Eliza was sent back to the ground and knocked unconscious.

The endless void which had consumed Eliza’s thoughts gave way to a distant light. The light was warm and growing hotter. She aspired to be closer to the light and always was a bit closer. Yet, as the light grew larger and closer, she felt a deep tug pull her backward. Eliza’s mind swirled with feelings of rage and helplessness as the light’s warmth was replaced with a numb coolness. The sharp pain which defied the numbness, emitted from her neck, manifested itself into dream. She could feel the cold hands of a doctor wrapped around her neck and shoulder, pinning her to the floor. The doctor dug an empty syringe deeply into her neck and Eliza could feel the draw of blood throughout her body as he pulled the plunger. As the rhythmic thumping of her heartbeat slowed, Eliza felt her strength give way to the frigid hands.

Eliza could smell the foul odor of garbage. Though she was sitting upright against a wall, the putrid stench was so strong it made her feel dizzy. Eliza could feel the cool brick supporting her head. Shots of pain screamed up and down her spine, from her fingers to her toes. For several moments, Eliza couldn’t recall anything specific and she remained still and silent in her agony. As the sharp pain eased into a throbbing ache, Eliza realized she was sitting in something wet. After she had regained most of her faculties, Eliza’s discomfort was enough to motivate her to her feet. Much to her displeasure, the foul smelling liquid she was sitting in was unidentifiable. The dark crimson and black concoction ran in thick beads down her legs and pooled where Eliza had been sitting.

As she struggled to reconstruct the events of the previous night, the blaring sound of Brooklyn’s morning traffic blared in Eliza’s ears. Spinning recollections of flashing lights and bad EDM concealed her answers. After several moments, between the otherwise relentless clatter of New York City commuters, Eliza remembered the red hair of the man who charged her but could not place it among the fragmented thoughts which polluted her memory. She dug her fingers into the cold snow under her palms. She tried to remember how she had been attacked. She could remember hearing the woman calling out for help and felt a rage swell within her. The sound of the desperate woman’s screams seemed to linger in her mind, long enough to bring about focus however, and Eliza felt her strength return.

Eliza was still incredibly groggy. Her head spinning, she tried to remember if she had taken a drink from anyone. To her recollection, such as it was, she had never let her beverage out of her sight. The only opportunity some had to drug her was when Heather was ordering the drink. In fact, Eliza could remember that she had left the party, without Heather, and headed to her car. She didn’t remember the echoing footsteps, bright hair or the young woman’s screams. As Eliza stumbled from the alley, she had to raise her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. Her vision was so sensitive that even the small rays of sunshine which peeked through the New York City skyline induced throbbing behind her eyes. After surveying her surroundings, Eliza made her way in the direction she believed her car was parked. The red Cobalt was right where she left it, the only addition a yellow parking ticket stuffed beneath the wiper blades. “Great,” Eliza said aloud as she pulled the ticket off the windshield and crumpled it up in her hand. “Fu*king great.”

When Eliza sat down in the driver’s seat, she felt her wet dress cling to her thighs. Looking down, she could make out the stains in the black fabric. Eliza was too exhausted to dwell on her appearance but the nagging discomfort of sitting perturbed her into a childish tantrum. Eliza, still very confused and it a lot of pain, slammed her hands on the Chevy’s steering wheel and screamed. As she pummeled her hands on the cold leather, Eliza was startled by a knock on her driver’s side window.

A pale man with green eyes stood a step back from the car, a look of concern stretched across his face. “Miss,” the man’s muffle words rang through the car. “are you alright?”

“Who are you?” Eliza growled wearily.

“My name is Tom,” he said closing the distance between himself and the car to peer inside. Eliza saw a white collar around his neck which identified him as a clergyman. “I think I can help you,” he whispered sadly as he shuffled back through the snow which had piled along the curb.