Addicted In Cold Blood (11 page)

“Do either of you know where MeMe is?”

“I have no fuckin’ idea. She was scared to death,” Macelina confessed. “She ain’t been out here since.”

“Can you tell me what she saw?”

Candi turned around, her eyes filled with anger and trepidation.

“Jayme, either she was trippin’ on some shit really bad, or she was telling the truth. I know she didn’t want to talk to no police though. Nobody trusts anyone, anymore. We honestly don’t know where she is though. I think you better just ask her. If we see her, we’ll let her know to call you.” And with that, the two women hastened their step, their heels clicking loudly against the cold pavement until they were several feet away, too far away for Jayme to ask any more questions.

She’d seen that ‘look’ before—the same one she used when she’d have to pretend to undress with a creepy guy that gave her goosebumps. She never took ‘back-up’ for granted. Even though help was in the other room, the john could still have a gun, slice her like a pizza pie or bang her head into the wall so hard, it would leave a gash. All of those things could happen, they’d happened to plenty others she knew—and silent prayers were always covered in nervous sweat.

Jayme continued down the street, devising plans, stopping people she knew and flashing a smile or simple ‘hello’ at the ladies of the night...

****

“Pleeease!” Blue mascara streaked down the woman’s caramel skin as she twisted her roped and bound body, struggling to get free. Xzion looked down briefly at her, then back up at his wrist. He scanned her once more before starting the process. He kneeled down in front of her on his knee, looking at his specimen closely.

“Why are you upset?” he asked quietly.

“You...you told me we were going to a hotel! I don’t go to people’s houses and...it’s cold in here, it’s weird! Just let me go, please?” Her eyes glistened with fresh tears as she bucked her tied ankles on his bed sheets, disheveling them.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” And he meant that. Xzion had no intentions of killing the young lady. He did, however, have plans for her that may cause her a slight bit of pain. Regardless, she’d still have her life fully intact—only, she’d never be the same. He had no control over that. He simply needed what he needed, and she could be on her way.

He removed the needle from a velvet covered case.

“Oh God! No! Please! I’ll do whatever you want! I have a little money, you can have it! You want sex? Okay, I won’t fight you! Please...just don’t!”

She screamed at the top of her lungs, her body bucking around as she if were having a seizure. Much to his surprise, he didn’t even have to use mind control to get her. She thought she’d found a happy new john, a guy willing to pay top dollar for her barely used vessel of love. Fact of the matter was, it had been used
plenty
, but her little girl face, petite ‘barely a woman body’ and lack of heavy drug abuse made her look like a teenager. She’d come for excitement, wanted some cash, and had yet to run into any major issues. In short, here was a little girl lost, and unfortunately, now she’d been found...

He ran his finger down the side of her face, tracing her smooth skin ever so slowly.

She’s so damn young...

Then he began. Eyes staring intensely, he forced her mind to join with his and he locked into her, taking full control of every muscle of her temple. He quickly untied her, moving swiftly while she was still under his influence.

“Turn over on your stomach.”

Without a moment of hesitation, still under mind altering hypnosis, the hooker did as she was told.

Xzion sat down beside his unwilling medical assistant. He carefully pulled the top of her silky dress down, exposing her bra strapped covered back. Her upper shoulder sported a small dragon tattoo. He enjoyed mythical creature cartoons and illustrations. It amused him, because he knew that on some planets, such creatures of similar fashion really
did
exist and no one thought they were cool or great to look at—except these hominids. A dragon would kill you for fun, had brains the size of pebbles, and ghastly odors that oozed from their reptilian pores. Xzion’s people, in their true historic warrior form, would wipe them out, thousands at a time due to back to back, senseless invasions. The damned things kept coming, monsters shunned across the galaxy and considered inferior to any other creature.

Stupid humans...drawing the bastards on their bodies. May as well draw a pile of shit...same difference.

Xzion reached into his bag and removed more equipment. He cleaned the area right in the middle of her spinal cord with rubbing alcohol. Next, he picked the syringe back up, and slowly injected the needle into her back, eliciting a slight moan from her.

“You’re just going to feel a bit of pressure...it will be over soon enough. You won’t remember any of this. I promise.”

He slowly removed the needle from her back, her blood drawn into it—exactly 20 CCs. And the best part was, his scan of her on the darkened street was correct; she was AB blood type, definitely ideal. The hard to come by stuff was the only kind that worked faster as a coolant on their delicate systems. Unlike O blood, which had a tendency to clot, or A blood, which only gave a week or two of relief, or even B blood, which lasted a bit longer and would help in a bind, but still wasn’t good enough—AB blood gave months of protection from overheating. Even though only three percent of the United States population had the blood type, it helped all of his people, just like humans—anyone could use it.  Xzion wouldn’t be picky, however. All donors were welcome but he’d hit the jackpot, and couldn’t wait to tell Aton after it was complete.

“Stay lying face down until I tell you to get up,” he said coolly as he looked at the filled syringe from various angles.

He exited the room, locking her inside. Walking up the hall, he reached a bright blue room, the light in it almost blinding. A sterile environment, equipped with a long, white slate work counter covered with assorted filter funnels, chemical spoons, test tubes and volumetric flasks. He sat down at the counter and opened a drawer filled with ice chips and blinking, flashing bright red chips. They glowed like Christmas decorations. Dipping his fingers inside, he retrieved several and set them flat onto the table. Next, he placed a petri dish in the middle of his work area, then opened his wrist. He pushed several small buttons, and waited.

“Aton,” he said with a grin while he kept busy, lining up clean syringes, small beakers, and a mortar and pestle.

Aton’s voice came through loud and clear via the speaker on Xzion’s wrist.

“Aton, I just wanted to give you an update. I have the subject and I am conducting an experiment for Phase II. She is type AB Blood.”

“What a find!”

“I know. I took the sample from her back so that synthensization wouldn’t take as long.”

Back samples were always more ideal, though harder. The sample was cleaner, thus, required less ‘clean up’.

“I will let you know my findings as soon as it is complete.”

“Thank you, Xzion. I will be waiting.”

And the call disconnected.

Xzion placed the blood inside of the pestle. He then added a small cup of ice, crushed it and mixed it together. Next, he added a thick green liquid, known as habas. It was a blood astringent. The mixture started to bloom and bubble. He poured the concoction into the petri dish, after which he pricked himself with a needle. He placed one drop of his blood inside the blend, which sparked and fizzed. After a few moments, he stood and poured the mixture into a thick test tube pre-filled with bubbling, pool-blue liquid called kivi, a binding agent. Everything combined, swirling and knotting, dancing in strange contortions. He washed his hands at a nearby sink, then vacated the area and returnedto his bedroom. There the woman still lay on the bed, a faraway look in her eyes.

“Good girl. I see you’re still here.” He joked as he closed and locked the door behind him. “Now, after this is over, I will let you go, but first, we have to sit here and wait...”

He removed his shoes and the rest of his clothing, entered into his bathroom, and immediately submerged himself in an ice bath, for sheer pleasure...

****

Jayme tossed her papers across her bedroom floor in a huff. She’d spent the better part of four hours, canvassing the area, interviewing and chasing down leads. Still, no sign of MeMe; it was as if she’d vanished into thin air. Even so, Jayme knew MeMe all too well. The poor woman had six children lost in the system, four of which came from johns, hepatitis C and a crack cocaine habit out of this world. Only twenty-six, she looked forty. The streets had treated her unkindly and the once hopeful young lady had succumbed to her demons. Whatever MeMe had seen, it may or may not help, but the quest to find her would continue, just not right then.

Jayme sighed and grunted loudly as she fell back onto her bed, hands over eyes. She’d read over her notes, the police files regarding the ‘XXX’ murderer and the classified information from the FBI but she continued to run into brick walls. No one wanted to rat out a drug dealer, especially the ones that were being targeted. They were needed after all; who else would give them their dope and furthermore, the price had skyrocketed, causing a feeding frenzy amongst the last standing. The ones still alive turned it into a money bonanza. Less competition, more profits—simple math.

Angry at the world, Jayme kicked her foot out, forcing a book off of her bed in angst. All she needed was one tiny morsel to materialize, and she’d chase it to the moon and back but all she had were time-stamped, ‘Fuck-You, Cop!’ and missing MeMe, the round-a-way, high-school drop-out turned base head.

“Wow.” She rolled over onto her side, pity party in full effect with matching ‘sad blues’ disco ball. “You’re doing a bang up job.” A weak smile spread across her face.

She knew she wouldn’t stay down for long, but she needed this small space in time to feel this way, to let it wrap her up in the pathetic distresses she wore so well as of late…and then she’d rake it away and jump back into the interrogation stew, feet first.

****

Xzion stood in the blue room, smiling as strobes of twitching light glimmered over him. At this moment, he looked truly deranged and he knew it—the mirrored walls wouldn’t let him ignore it as he sloshed the concoction around in the tumbler. It had been a bit over an hour, and he was ready to test the magic elixir. He set it down and proceeded to feel along the back of his scalp. Pushing his finger closer to his nape, he massaged the area. Then, he dipped his finger into the brew and applied it liberally along that spot. The change came in moments—almost too good to be true.

His body warmed, then cooled, just as it was supposed to. His brain had ceased to overheat; instead, it flickered back and forth, dating various temperatures until it settled on the perfect one for him. Instantly, he could see better, think clearer and his bionic hearing was amplified. He had no idea how disabled he’d been on this thirteen month journey.

As he gleefully made his way back to his bedroom, a mind splitting headache gripped him in its invisible claw.

Oh God, it’s reverting at warp speed!

He grabbed the sides of his head and screamed so loud, several ice walls cracked. Dropping to his knees, he crawled about aimlessly, his nude body sliding against the icy partitions. He’d never felt pain like this in his life—and he’d had his share.

“Uhhh...” He grunted.

With effort, he gained control of himself. The pain begun to subside, but his vision blurred for a short while, after which it returned to normal. The good effects of the blood were fleeting. Something had gone terribly wrong. Did he not use enough? Was it too much? Was the blood not able to be synthesized properly? The computer said it was ready after he’d re-entered the room. He even tested it before taking it for himself.

He was back to the same drawing board, burning up, but this was even worse. His brain short circuited and immediately, he dashed into the hallway bath, pulling at chunks of ice from the walls with his bare hands. With bloodied fingertips, he dove into the tub of ice, headfirst.

“Uhhh...fuuuck!” He held the side of his face, feeling his eyes bloodshot, his heart bursting under his skin and his body sore, as if he’d run a million miles. He burst from the tub, pushing past the pain. Storming into his bedroom, his eyes fell on the girl, still in a dazed state. He sloppily dressed, yanked her by the arm and dragged her into the hall. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. He was supposed to calmly remove his influence over her, in her own environment. Now, he was barely able to hang on, and finally, he’d lost complete control...

She blinked and gasped, and her shrill screams rang throughout the house. He immediately cuffed her open lips with his heavy palm, huffing as he pulled her past the front door.

Disaster! This is going all wrong! What the hell happened?! Never mind...I will figure this out later. Gotta get her out of my damn house...

He continued to fight his own pain and bore into her thoughts, his eyes trained upon hers. Soon, she was under his spell again. Moments later, they were in his car, moving through the streets headed to downtown D.C. He glanced at her occasionally as she sat like a mannequin, her muscles locked, mouth partially open and a dreamy look in her dark brown eyes.