Love's Psychos

Chapter 10

As he was entering the lobby of the apartment complex, where his penthouse suite was located, the next occurrence in what had been admittedly a relatively brief string of ugly affairs since he moved to Japan began. As he boarded the elevator and used his personal card key to reach the top floor, a man with dark orange hair walked up beside him, tagging along.

"What floor?" Caleb asked politely in Japanese.

"Tenth," he responded gruffly, not even bothering to look at him.

Already, Caleb could feel his heart start to beat faster as an all too familiar fire began to well up in his being. That slouched gait, the lackadaisical, apathetic demeanor with which he carried himself. No doubt about it, Caleb had just stumbled upon another idiot.

The stranger coughed. It was a crass, obnoxious sound, made only more intolerable by the fact that neither his arm nor his body seemed to move in any way that might have indicated some form of courtesy to his fellow passenger in the confined space. Though annoyed, Caleb checked himself. That was until he heard the obnoxious sound again.

"You know, I really hate to be a bother," he declared politely. "But with everything going on right now, I really would appreciate it if you would at least cover your mouth when you cough."

He shrugged his shoulders apathetically, again not looking at him. "Whatever."

What began as a simple annoyance had manifested into a sharp ringing in Caleb's skull he could no longer ignore. Yet still, he continued just to breathe deeply. They only had a few more floors to go before he was home free.

But of course, that insipid noise came from the stranger's mouth yet again, with nary so much as a slight movement of his shoulders or turn of his neck to be found in sight. Unable to help himself any longer, Caleb turned and glared at the man.

"Is there something I'm not pronouncing correctly?" he asked, genuine anger filling his voice. "I specifically asked you to cover your mouth when you cough."

"Alright. Alright. Sorry," the stranger retorted dismissively with a sour look on his face.

He nodded in appreciation. "Thank you."

They were nearly at the tenth floor. His heartbeat was thudding against the back of his skull like a war drum, that sharp ringing drowning out seemingly all noise. He just had to last a bit longer, and the door would open up, separating them before things were allowed to escalate further.

He heard the cough again.

And just like that, Caleb had officially reached his threshold. With a deep, depressed sigh, he watched as the elevator hit the tenth floor.

Only, the doors didn't open.

"You know something..." he spoke in English as the elevator continued its ascent. "...I have been nothing if not the most patient and understanding I've ever managed in my entire life since moving here."

A nervous concern appeared on the stranger's face as he repeatedly pressed the tenth-floor button. Yet still, the elevator did not stop its ascent.

"I get that, in the grand scheme of things, I'm just a guest in your home. I really do understand."

He started furiously pushing the emergency button, apparently sensing the inordinate amounts of murder welling up in Caleb's being.

"But this isn't even a cultural thing," Caleb insisted, getting directly in the now terrified stranger's face. His voice slowly raised in decibel. "In fact, it's so universal it's understood just about anywhere on the planet. You always cover your freaking mouth when you cough!"

He had the man backed into a corner, trembling as he went for his phone to call the police. Not that it would do him any good in this instance. Seeing the terror in his eyes, the fear, Caleb finally seemed to calm down.

"But I digress... it's not my intention to cause a disturbance. And the fact that I had killed significantly fewer people since moving here than when I was still in the US should speak to the respect and appreciation I have for your country and your culture."

Caleb gripped the man by the head in both hands, staring at him with an intense, focused gaze.

"So please believe me when I tell you there is nothing personal about this. No matter where in the world I am, I loathe every waste of oxygen who has the gall to disrespect me, no matter their form."

"W...what are you doing?"

An unsettling laugh emanated from the back of Caleb's throat as he replied in Japanese. "I'm forgiving you, my friend. I'm forgiving you."

He then sank his teeth deep into the man's throat, shaking vigorously before ripping out his trachea, the source of that irritating sound, clean out of his neck. His victim fell to the floor, clutching his bleeding neck while gasping for air as Caleb loomed over him, blood coating his mouth, a psychotic grin on his face.

With a wipe of his hand, the blood floated away from his face, coalescing into a ball of crimson light in his palm. An ornate dagger with a ruby pommel appeared in his grip, willed into existence by the vitae so generously donated by his latest victim.

He descended upon the man, stabbing him repeatedly with the small blade, letting out all the pent-up anger, the rage, the hatred he held in his heart for the vast majority of his fellow man, his arm moving faster and faster as he repeatedly plunged the knife into his victim's body, stabbing him well over fifty times before screaming into his lifeless eyes.

Now panting for breath, Caleb dropped the dagger, which proceeded to crumble into ash on the ground, before sliding off his victim's body and resting back against the wall of the elevator. The ringing in his skull had finally subsided as the usual post-slaughter endorphin rush began to set in, calming him down significantly and providing a steady boost of that lovely neurotransmitter he'd grown so fond of over the years.

Spacing out his kills like this wasn't purely for the sake of respecting his host country; it also kept the high from alluding to his grasp.

Caleb didn't get off on draining his victims anymore. Not like the others seemed to anyhow. Nor did he particularly delight in torturing his blood bags the way his former associates did. Something he blamed his unique appetite for. These days, the only way he seemed to get that same rush was by letting it all out. Like a homicidal detox, almost.

All things considered, this one wasn't too bad. Nothing like the spree he went on back in the states, hunting down and butchering the turncoat members of his Chapter. But honestly, that wasn't even a fair comparison. It didn't help matters he was only thirteen back then. Revenge-fueled psychotic rage was a gateway drug he'd only just begun to experiment with. Of course, over time, that had since mutated into a far more complicated and vicious superiority complex.

He'd extended his wrath and hatred for those who murdered his father to those counted among humanity he deemed as worthless and inferior to him in every conceivable way. Which, in his own mind at least, encompassed most of the human race as a whole. Though he understood how many would come to doubt this claim, so far, no one had proved him wrong by virtue of the fact he had yet to be caught. Either by his former order, the Hunters, or humanity for his crimes.

It wasn't long after he got a taste for vengeance and wanton bloodshed that the other hunger began to set in.

His thoughts were pulled away from the past as the elevator chimed and the doors opened up in front of him. Caleb looked towards the interior of the luxury penthouse suite his mother was extremely proud of, then down at the bloody corpse in front of him. It was only at that moment that he seemed to remember the text she sent him warning Caleb to expect company tonight.

He rested his head against the wall with a weary groan, running a bloodied hand through his hair.

"Well, this is gonna be one hell of a conversation starter."