The Blood King (Wattpad Exclusive Version)

Rebirth

 

March 11, 2005, 5:05 p.m. Miami

Frank is a simple creature. He’s a man who loves to kill—not for joy or for hate but because he truly craves the taste of human flesh.

If he ever decides to stop, he will become a miserable excuse of a man. That much he knew when he played with the idea back in the ’70s, when he grew a conscience for a second or two. In those days, there were no GPS locators or satellite surveillance. He was free to come and go and be as messy as he would like to be; but when things started to heat up in the Midwest and technology began to change everything, he considered the possibility of stopping once and for all. Of course, I know better. After all, we are talking about a creature who killed and ate his own mother.

Frank will never stop, because what he is challenges all logic.

I watched as the old man carefully rewrapped my wounds. Decades of managing dead bodies have given him some kind of mastery regarding the human anatomy. I was aware that he couldn’t possibly see the body I had the way normal people did. To him, I was food. That worried me; but at the same time, I couldn’t control my cockiness, disregarding which body I might be in. Besides, I was banking on the notion that he would rather help me in exchange for an opportunity toward immortality.

Frank looked at me, and I saw in his eyes that he was wondering what I was thinking. I needed to be careful, because now that I was a mortal being, Frank could read my mind if he wanted to.

Frank, despite being such a man, has always been a talented clairvoyant. I have the theory that one of the things that make him addicted to killing is the ability to read his victim’s final thoughts. I can relate to that, because it is a touch of the divine when in one single action, you seize not only the physical but also the emotional from a mortal being.

He kept looking at me, and I knew I had to stop thinking about him before he found out my fears.

“We need to take you to a doctor or something. I can’t stop the bleeding,” he said.

I closed my eyes, looking inward, trying to conduct some kind of analysis as to the real status of my new body.

“Did you text the kid again?” I asked.

“Yes, I sent the message, as you told me,” he replied.

“Then don’t worry. Everything will be better tonight,” I said with fake confidence.

Frank took two steps back from the sofa where I was resting and looked at me seriously.

“How could you be so sure that he will be there?” he asked.

His words made me smile. His simple nature was so predictable that I just couldn’t help myself.

“He will be there, old man. He will be there,” I said carelessly.

*******

March 11, 2005, 6:37 p.m. Miami

The night was strange to me. It looked strange, and it felt even stranger. It was as if I was a man trying to live inside a fishbowl—out of place, an impossible fit.

I stayed on the sofa, as close as possible to the window, so I could watch the sunset. It was a cold, pitch-black night in March, and I knew I would’ve been enjoying it had it not been for this damn body and its limitations.

I spent almost half an hour looking at Erika’s face in the bathroom mirror. The old man didn’t bother trying to clean me up; that would have been asking too much of him. I was certain that he would’ve preferred cutting this body into pieces and making a stew. That was his way of showing appreciation.