BloodWise

BloodWise, Chapter 14

True to his word, Max brought Winston to a light passenger plane parked on a concrete strip hidden in an orchard that smelled like apples and pears. The plane's cabin reeked of Delroy Catman's touch. The interior was trimmed with leather and there were airbrushed prints of half-naked women and jungle panthers across the walls. There was also a young, mortal woman on the plane too. Winston knew the type. She was a prostitute of sorts, but instead of being paid for sex, she was paid for blood. The Advocacy had started cracking down on such practice, but the Caribean was such a mess that the practice still somehow remained. Anyway, there was an upside for the young woman as there was no chance of catching a venereal disease or getting pregnant and Catman paid better than Kingston's pimps. There was a price too in that- even if Catmankept her well-sheltered- she would see things that she'd never forget, and it was doubtful that she'd ever be able to see the world as a good place again.

The woman's eyes bounced to Max and then to Winston. She took another moment to study Winston's blood-soaked clothes and wounds, and then she went back to her glossy magazine.

"I brought her for me," Max said to Winston. "But I think you need it better."

"I want extra pay for that one," the young woman said as she tugged her sleeves up to her elbows. "He an ugly one."

"He's not ugly," Max said. "He's hurt bad."

She cocked an eyebrow in mock sympathy, ran her fingers through her short hair. She stood and helped Winston sit down in one of the passenger seats which was done up in cream leather. Of course, Winston's blood smeared over that seat and it seemed to him that he'd left a trail of partially-congealed blood across the entire city of Baltimore and half the adjoining county. He groaned as the young woman climbed into his lap and stuck one forearm in front of him. Winston half-considered objecting, but now that he was out of immediate danger, his blood hunger was kicking in something wicked.

"What is your name?" she asked him.

"Winston."

"Hear me now, Winston. I want you to bite me at this dark bruise right here, Winston, because that bit of skin is already damaged. Bite there, do you understand, man?"

He nodded and bit harder than he intended.

She squeezed her face in pain, but  a moment later the neurotoxins of the vampire's kiss flooded her body and she fell into a painless, dreamless sleep.

Winston pulled hard at her blood, sucking and licking. The blood rewarded him as it coursed down his throat, giving him new strength, and he probably would have killed her if Max didn't reach over and tap a few heavy, ring-studded knuckles against Winston's skull.

Winston spun to look at Max. "Careful there, Winston. I like that girl you're holding."

Winston experienced a moment of animal defensiveness, and then remembered what Max was capable of. Then he remembered who he was and he remembered his manners, and he felt dully embarrassed, like when he'd been very small and his mother had caught him sneaking candy into his bed. Winston shook his  head to clear. "I'm sorry, Max."

"It's nothing Winston. You just relax there."

And he did.

He woke a several hours later with the young woman still across his lap. The interior of the cabin was dark except the glow a a few red led bulbs implanted along the walls.

He stroked the girls hair, and she woke slowly. "Is it morning?" she asked in a creaky voice.

"I think it's dusk," he said.

She extracted herself from him and headed towards the back of the plane.

It took a moment for Winston's eyes to adjust and then he spotted Max through the open cockpit door. As Winston stood, he heard soft crackling. It took him a moment to realize that the blood that had soaked his clothes had dried during the day and hardened and now it clung to his clothes like a coat of candlewax, breaking and splintering as he limped.

When he reached the cockpit, he saw Max and another vampire that he didn't know. "I'm just giving Davio the story," Max said.

Davio looked at Winston and gave him a nod.

"My clothes," Winston said.

"I know. You cannot be seen in Jamaica like that. There's a few suits in the rear overhead. You go change, Winston, and I'll be with you presently."

Winston looked out through the cockpit window and a familiar field of apple and pear trees. "We didn't fly."

"You arrived too close to dawn," Davio explained.

Winston left the cockpit and found a trove of white dress suits. He waited for the young woman to exit the bathroom. Then he washed himself as best he could- leaving a pile of red and rust-colored paper towels in the head's tiny wastebasket.Then he put on the white suit and came out of the bathroom looking like some Caribbean nightclub god. "I wish you had a cane," he told Max.

"We'll get you to a few more girls in Kingston," Max said, "And then leg will heal." He patted the seat beside him. "Sit with me, Winston and let's dream on Jamaica together."

Winston sat as the plane's engines came to life.

The young woman chose to sit away from them, her face mostly hidden in another glossy magazine.

"I'm happy to have you back," Max admitted. "The crew has not been the same since you left."

The plane shook as it picked up speed and made its way down the makeshift runway.

"Do you miss home, Winston?"

"I do," Winston admitted. The admission took him back many decades. Before he'd before he'd been turned, before things like cars and the world economy had ever come to his homeland Now he caught a glimpse of his childhood home, a small whitewashed Victorian on a hill overlooking Kingston. He'd been one of lucky ones, his father was a banker and he'd grown up middle class in an era when almost everyone had been country poor.  The days of his childhood had been drenched with sun, and not just any sun, but the peculiar tropical sunlight of the turn-of-century Caribbean. Before the tourists and air pollution.

       He remembered suddenly the satisfaction of being an eight year old child who was good at so many things. He was good at school, math in particular, and good at making friends. He was good at climbing trees too. He recalled how sometimes after he returned from school his mother would send him to the yard to pick lemons to squeeze in their chicken soup and pomegranates for after dinner. Instead of grabbing them off the low hanging branches, however, Winston would scramble up the fruit trees to pick them, and we he was near the top, he would sit for a minute and take in the ships of the Kingston Bay. Now, decades later, he marveled at the completeness of his eight year old life. A whole life and all the happiness in the world had been found on a tree, in tiny hillside suburb, in a tiny land.  That's when the idea began to form. For a few moments, it took over his mind entirely and he was hardly aware of Max or the airplane taking off. It was something that happened, part of his vampires, power, the ability to look into the chaos of the world and find the key to things. In this cae, the key was a simple and effective one. When he finally came to, he found Max staring at him

"Did you hear me, Winston?"

Winston shook his head and smiled at Max. "No. I was somewhere else."

Max nodded. he'd seen Winston in this state before.

"My mother," Winston said.

"Excuse me?"

"When we get to Jamaica, I want to go see my mother."

"She's still alive?"

"She was very young when she had me."

Max stared at Winston for a while. He tapped at his chest as though the answer to Winston's request might be stuck there and he was trying to dislodge it. "This better not be a trick, Solomon."

"Not a trick. I swear. You can even come with me."

Max looked dubious.

"Don't you want me to be happy, Max?"

"Okay," Max said. "But I am coming as well."

"Nothing would make me happier."

The small plane continued to ascend into the cold air above the Atlantic.