Becoming

[Continuation of Story Submitted to Contest #279 "The promotion"]

"Nothing will taste the same," he said. "I'm really sorry we had to do it like this, but there was no other choice. The budget has been tight this year, and I only knew I could propose this to you this morning."

"This? What is this? I don't understand what you said or what you are doing here. What are you doing in my house?" I said, looking at the coffee machine. I had not pressed the "On" button yet because his words had triggered something in me I couldn't understand. I had red stains on my hands. Blood, I thought. Why am I covered in blood? Somehow, I did not mind the dirty clothes on the floor when I woke up, but my hands were another thing. I touched the red spots. The skin bounced back weirdly. It was soft, much softer than ever before.

"It is Saturday, right?" I asked, pressing the "start" button.

"Yes, it is," he replied while the hot liquid started to pour into my ceramic mug.

"I don't work on Saturdays. I am at home."

"Yes, you are."

"And you are my boss."

"Indeed."

"Why are you here?"

"I brought you home because you could not walk."

"There is blood. Was I in an accident?"

"Not really."

"Is this a dream?"

"No."

"Why is there blood?"

"Because we drained you."

"You... what... me?"

"We drained you. We drank your blood."

I looked at that man in front of me, who seemed exhausted, more than usual. His skin was almost transparent. It seemed the blood in his veins was pumping slowly, as if something was crawling inside them. This whole situation seemed so weird and ridiculous that I almost laughed, but then I stared again at my hands.

"I am alive, right?"

"More than ever," he replied, taking a couple of steps toward me.

The way he moved creeped me out, and I jumped back, hitting the kitchen counter, and my coffee mug fell on the floor and broke into hundreds of tiny shiny pieces.

"Shit! I liked this one! "I said. Somehow, breaking my lucky mug was bothering me more than having a semi- stranger- creepy man in my bloody kitchen.

I immediately tried to pick the pieces, and when the coffee touched my hands, it did not burn. In fact, I did not even feel the liquid running through my fingers, despite my hands being wet and the droplets seeming to dance over my skin.

Cool, I thought, this seems magic.

"It is not," said my boss, smiling at me.

I still don't know why I did not scream and tried to run. I think I was curious, and my brain had run the numbers with my options. If he wanted to hurt me, he had had plenty of chances while I was asleep. If he was just a creep that liked to watch, the damage was done, and if he had drained my blood-- as he said-- his work sucked (double pun very intended) because I was very much alive.

"Who are you?" I asked. 

"You know me. I'm Salazar. We've been working together for years," he replied, smiling at me. He had a nice smile and tremendously white and shiny teeth. I had never realized that before. In fact, although I guessed he was around his fifties, he was attractive and somehow charming.

"Thank you, I take care of myself," I heard. Still, he had said nothing. His lips had not moved, and he just kept smiling and staring at me.

"Did you say something?"

"I don't know, did I?"

Now, his lips had moved. I had seen them pronounce each and every word, but still, I was confused.

"You are my boss."

"Yes."

"And you brought me home because I drank too much yesterday during the dinner."

"I brought you home because you were technically dead."

"Jesus, man, I might have drunk a lot, but never have I abused so much. Did anyone spike my drink?"

"We drained your blood."

"Is that a cocktail? Or a drinking game? Because I have blood, you see? I raised my sleeve to show him my veins. My skin had always been too light, and my veins had always popped in my arms, but that day, when I raised my bare arm... "Wait, where are my veins?" I yelled.

I squeezed my skin, twisted and turned it, but nothing was there—only white skin, almost translucid, as Salazar's. I panicked and looked again at the ceramic pieces on the floor.

I picked the biggest one and stabbed my wrist with it. I did not even think of what I was doing, and the man before me did not move. I ripped my skin, and then, nothing. There was nothing: no blood, no pain... nothing.

"I'm not bleeding," I said, amazed at how the ceramic kept moving through my skin. It was like a beautiful wave, like gelatin, pulling apart and coming together again... healing.

"You will never bleed again. You will feel no pain," said the man. "You'll feel nothing. You're perfect. You've been promoted."

"Promoted?"

"You're one of us now. Welcome to the club."

I let the ceramic fall and observed how the cut closed completely. I scratched my head and thought about all those horror movies I had watched when I was younger and had time for movies.

Am I a vampire? I thought.

"Don't be ridiculous," I heard. Once again, he had not moved his lips, so I asked, loud and clear: "Are you reading my mind?"

"Yes, I am. And you are reading mine," he replied.

"So, no vampire?"

"That's not real."

"Did you bite me?"

"A colleague of mine did."

"That's a vampire!"

"That's not how we call ourselves."

"How many are you?"

"Many, but that's not important."

"Then, how do you call yourselves?"

"You are one of us now."

"Yes, sure, whatever. Name?"

"You should know. You've worked hard to reach this."

"I never had such a vision. Do I drink blood now? Can I go outside?"

"You're not a vampire!"

"Then, tell me."

"You're impatient."

"I'm direct; it's not the same."

"You need to learn a lot yet."

"Sure, let's start with the name."

He put his hand on my shoulder, and I felt calm. I wanted to be angry, or kick him, or even scream, but I couldn't. I felt like floating, or even better, like laying on a bed of fluffy marshmallows... I couldn't think.

Then, once more, his lips did not move, but I heard his words clearly.

"You are... we are... management."