Thicker than Blood by Mike Omer

Author:Mike Omer [Omer, Mike]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-06-22T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 34

The man in control spent the entire day away from home, feeling like a bad theater actor acting out a script of his own life. It was as if he kept forgetting his next line or what his mood was supposed to be. All of his movements felt mechanical and exaggerated. His entire body was a cumbersome suit that he was desperate to remove. He wanted to give it all up and storm off the stage. But there was no stage and no script. And he knew Daniel would be aghast if he did anything to draw more attention to himself. So he held it together.

But by the time he got home, his jaw was clenched so tightly that his head began to pound. And when he closed the door behind him, he could already sense that Daniel was having a bad day. When you lived with a sick person, you developed a sensitivity to his pain. Maybe it was something in the odors produced by his breath and his sweat. Or maybe he heard Daniel groan faintly through the guest room’s closed door. It didn’t matter. Sickness lingered in the house.

He stumbled to the fridge and yanked the door open. He still had five vials remaining. Perhaps the blood was somehow diluted. He needed to consume more. Grabbing three vials, he went over to the cupboard and removed a large coffee mug. He emptied all the vials one by one into the mug, filling it almost to the top. A bubble materialized on the thick crimson surface and then popped.

He put the mug to his lips and drank greedily, feeling the viscous liquid sliding down his throat, coating his tongue, and gums, and teeth, salty and metallic.

It worked. Sudden tranquility flooded his body. This was what he’d needed all along. How could he forget—

A sudden lurch in his gut, and he scrambled to the bathroom, bile rising at the back of his throat. He made it just in time, grasping the toilet with both hands as he heaved and vomited. He coughed and gagged, his eyes tearing up. Wiping his face, he watched the toilet, the water bubbling with red vomit, the previously white porcelain spattered with pink and brown stains.

The blood of that woman was tainted. That was why it hardly helped, and that was why he couldn’t stomach it.

He moved to the sink and turned on the water, splashing it on his face. He gargled some of it and spat reddish leftovers in the sink, watched them circling and disappearing into the drain.

Putting his coat back on, he stepped outside, still coughing and spitting, trying to get rid of the taste and smell of his own vomit. The street tilted, or maybe he did, as he lurched, one step at a time, following the noise of traffic.

He wasn’t sure what he was looking for; he just wanted to get away. But after walking for a while, hugging himself, trembling, he saw her.

The woman with the baby. It was the same one he’d seen a few days before.

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