Molecular travel gives me an interesting advantage. I get to see shit that I don’t want to see, and I get to see shit that is beneficial to me, and not one of the humans that bypass is none the wiser. Somewhere in these walls Michael was on lock down with two or three other criminals awaiting trial. I bypass several other officers underneath the bright lighting of the hospital sterile hallway and on the elevator. I can sense the presence of a non-human entity, and the most I can do is remain hopeful that it is Michael and not something else. Werewolves had the most advantage when it comes to blending in with humans because they are human-until they shift, but for the most part they can live pretty normal lives without having their jobs or relationships impacted. It would not surprise me if I came across a werewolf who happened to be a cop or some other jail house worker. My main concern is though I remain undetected in this state of invisibility, a wolf can sense me without ever having to see me, and I do not need a physical encounter with a known enemy.
I continue moving through the airwaves, navigating the second and third floors, eavesdropping on what was supposed to be private but non work related conversations, and ignoring the various combinations of blood scents and my increasing thirst. How I would love to sink my teeth into the neck on one of these hot blooded and self righteous cops…as soon as my thoughts shift to my more basic needs, I catch Michael’s scent just down the hall in one of the many locked cells that contained men awaiting their day in court. A custody assistant is locking the cell containing an inmate clearly high off of some sort of hallucinogen. I can smell the toxin coursing its way through his veins, pumping straight into his heart and forcing its way to his brain. He reeks of a sour, musty odor, evidence of his lack of personal hygiene; his eyes are wide and wild with confusion and panic; and he glanced over in my direction, where I hovered in molecular form and screamed in terror. The officer, a white man in his early thirties with a receding hair line, looking slightly unnerved shoved the inmate inside and locked the door, before hurrying off to put in some much needed space between himself and the drug addict. In the room next to him sat Michael, along with two other roommates who seem to be more concerned with their personal issues rather than the excitement that had taken place right outside of their door.
Michael senses my presence because he glances up from the cot on which he sat, solemnly with his hands folded in his lap. He looks across from him on the bunk beds, where a wannabe hardened thug lay spread eagled on the top bunk, in his oversized orange jump suit and unkempt afro, and then on the bottom bunk sat a preppy looking white kid, no older than 22 with that Justin Bieber styled hair and scrawny body. I hope that Michael has sense enough to not alert his two best friends that there was another presence close by, and thankfully he doesn’t as he returns his gaze back to his folded hands. Just outside his door is an air vent. Perfect. I can slip in through the vent and into his cell, feed and then dematerialize both of us out of this shit hole without a second thought.
Once inside the vent, for dramatic purposes I filter myself out as a mist, and creating a set of bewildered looks from the two wannabe’s. I only do this when I have a particular man of wealth and power and who is use to extending his hands as if he is a living persona of godhood, and I need him to know that he is not in control: I am. It is a perfect method in creating an atmosphere of terror, and I love the kick that adrenaline gives me. I filter out of the vent in a cool white mist, like the morning fog that blankets the busy city streets into my solid form and then as usual…all hell breaks loose. Why can’t things just run smoothly for me?
The wannabe thug screams like a little bitch, and in a flash I silence him with a snap to his neck. The prep turns a ghostly white, his blue eyes wide like a deer caught in some headlights, and without thinking I snatch him in a vicelike grip and sink my fangs into his throat in a cobra like strike. Michael watches with an amused sort of curiosity, yet I am too consumed in the richness of this young man’s warm blood as it fills my belly and calms my thirst. The fire in my throat is gone, and the muscle cramps in my gut have eased. Now I can focus.
Several officers obviously heard the commotion and came rounding the corner like a heard of buffalo. I break the handle to the door and motion for Michael to follow me. I don’t have time to clean up after myself so I grab Preppy’s body and sling it over my shoulder for future disposal. In my twenty years of living my life in the shadows, I have yet to create any progeny of my own and I am not about to now. We are greeted by at least five officers, two of which are on their walkies demanding back up, the other three with their guns drawn. Michael, who happens to be standing to my left takes a fighter’s stance, which instantly pissed me off. He should have done that shit prior to his arrest. “Freeze! Don’t move!” An older, more seasoned officer commands; his knees bent and his heart rate steady. I glare at him, and use my will to force him into submission. The other officers glance at each other uneasily and one even takes a step back. “Don’t move!” Another commands boldly. I maintain my focus on the seasoned officer, my will crushing his psyche, twisting the very confounds of his mind until he buckles from the mental pressure. I tighten my hold, bending his will until it snaps and he cries out in agony. I crack his cranium without having to move anything but my will. He drops to the floor sobbing, his ears bleeding, his peers rush to his aid, and another one shoots. I step to the side, barely dodging the bullet that had my name on it, and in a blur too quick for the human eye, I decapitate all five officers. The inmates scream in terror, their cries echoing throughout the halls in a chorus of fear. I gotta get out of here before more reinforcements come, and I can hear their heavy hurried and desperate movements scattering about the halls. I grab hold of Michael and dematerialize all three of us (if you count Preppy’s dead and drained body) to the one room dungeon where Damien had stood guard over my unconscious body.
And thank God he wasn’t there.