Part 26 (1/2)

I followed him through winding streets, past residential buildings to a maze of darkened warehouses and meat packing plants. No parked cars or mortals loitering on the sidewalks. He stopped in front of a storefront displaying questionable literature and n.a.z.i war memorabilia in its window. The lights were off. A cage-like grill pulled over its front.

”The price of free speech,” I muttered.

Kurt scowled. ”Back entrance.” ”Back entrance.” He wheeled into an alleyway leading alongside the building, scanning until he found a door with a bare light bulb burning overhead. He wheeled into an alleyway leading alongside the building, scanning until he found a door with a bare light bulb burning overhead. ”Wait.” ”Wait.”

Soon the door opened. Kurt pulled me into the shadows as a young man stepped outside, tall, head shaved, wearing fatigues with the arms cut out and black combat boots laced with white. Tattoos on his worm-white arms proclaimed white power, a large Swastika figuring prominently on his right shoulder. The skinhead lurched by without noticing our presence, reeking of stale beer, cigarettes, has.h.i.+sh and the salt-iodine odor of s.e.x. A well pickled herring. Kurt hung back for a moment, restraining me with his arm.

He inclined his head, releasing his grip and we set off behind the intended victim, with footsteps too soft for mortal ears. The skinhead staggered around a corner, until he came upon a construction site. A skeleton of a gutted building rose above the plywood barrier surrounding it, a motionless crane standing sentinel, a steel Brachiosaurus. Next to it was a meat packer's building. Dumpsters stood in front, stinking of rotted flesh. Kurt's intended victim faced one, preceding to unzip. Pungent p.i.s.s filled the air. The skinhead laughed to himself, tracing a wet swastika on the side of the dumpster. He turned around in our direction, zipping his fly. Kurt stared at him curiously, head tilted slightly to one side.

”Whatcha looking at, f.a.ggot?” Kurt remained silent. ”Hey, your boyfriend deaf?” The victim gave me the once over, tugging his crotch. ”You can do better than that skinny runt, sweetheart.”

Kurt strolled up to him, tracing the swastika on the bared shoulder. ”You offend offend me.” me.”

The skinhead stepped back, grinning. ”I get it now, Jew boy.”

Kurt stepped back, smiling, and let loose a savage kick that sent the skinhead sprawling into the street, groaning and grasping his groin.

”Little sonofab.i.t.c.h!”

Kurt walked a slow circle around him and then cobra-rapid, grabbed the victim around the throat and dragged him behind the dumpster with me panting right behind. Kurt forced him to his knees, tearing into the neck, clamping his hand over the mouth to prevent screams.

After drinking his fill, he offered the victim to me but he was already dead, no delicious fear to taste, only cold blackness and alcohol. I spat the bitter blood out, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I let the body fall and turned around.

Kurt's color rushed back into lips, hair and eyes regaining their l.u.s.ter as he stood, a silent, avenging angel. Another need overtook me. I pressed against him. He was very very hard. I moaned and twisted against him, wanting him right there behind the dumpster. I reached down to unzip his jeans, but he pushed me away, turning back to the limp body, prodding it with his foot. Then to my horror he picked it up and began to strip flesh away from the corpse like peeling a banana, tearing off slabs of red muscle tissue to reveal the gleaming blue-white ribcage. Cracking the ribs open, he reached into the chest cavity, tearing out the heart, squeezing it to pulp in his fingers like a strawberry and then licking it off. A pile of offal lay at his feet on the sidewalk, with what resembled a human head still attached, bloodless shreds of flesh and bone- organs spilling out onto the sidewalk- loops of intestine, lungs, stomach popping out of the gaping wound. I stood gagging as Kurt nonchalantly walked away. hard. I moaned and twisted against him, wanting him right there behind the dumpster. I reached down to unzip his jeans, but he pushed me away, turning back to the limp body, prodding it with his foot. Then to my horror he picked it up and began to strip flesh away from the corpse like peeling a banana, tearing off slabs of red muscle tissue to reveal the gleaming blue-white ribcage. Cracking the ribs open, he reached into the chest cavity, tearing out the heart, squeezing it to pulp in his fingers like a strawberry and then licking it off. A pile of offal lay at his feet on the sidewalk, with what resembled a human head still attached, bloodless shreds of flesh and bone- organs spilling out onto the sidewalk- loops of intestine, lungs, stomach popping out of the gaping wound. I stood gagging as Kurt nonchalantly walked away.

”You can't leave this!”

His eyes narrowed to blue slivers. ”It's a slaughterhouse.”

”Maybe so but we can't leave this here.”

He shrugged, shoving the remains indifferently into the dumpster, staring at the gore on his hands. Blood was smeared and spattered all over his face. Couldn't walk through the streets with him looking like this, I had to lick lick him clean. I pulled him behind the dumpster to clean the blood from his face and hands with my tongue. Panting, he grabbed my face, kissing me hard as he pinned me against a wall. ”Now we f.u.c.k!” him clean. I pulled him behind the dumpster to clean the blood from his face and hands with my tongue. Panting, he grabbed my face, kissing me hard as he pinned me against a wall. ”Now we f.u.c.k!”

”You're completely covered in blood... ”

He tugged at my jeans and turned me to face the wall. ”Don't care.”

We f.u.c.ked standing up, crying out like animals.

When we made it back to the apartment, Kurt collapsed on the futon, moaning. Alcohol in the blood was affecting him adversely. He sat up suddenly, vomiting blood onto the floor and all over his clothes.

”Boy, you're a fun date.” I ran and got a large plastic garbage bag from under the sink and wet towels from the bathroom. ”You should know better than to take a drunk,” I scolded him as I mopped up the blood. ”Did you want to get caught? Let's get these clothes off.” I took off his lightweight brown leather jacket, much nicer than anything I had. I sponged it off, throwing it onto the chair. Tearing off his s.h.i.+rt, I stuffed it into the plastic bag and then stripped off his jeans. I wiped as much blood as I could from his body and threw the towels in the bag, too.

”Come on, you're taking a shower,” I said, as I hefted his arm over my shoulder.

I put him under the shower to let the water sober him up. He grimaced and groaned. Ethan had sometimes taken inebriated victims but they never affected him quite this much. I was careful never to indulge too much myself. Silent, Kurt leaned back against the wall of the stall as I washed the rest of the blood away. Now and then a little s.h.i.+ver of pleasure convulsed his body.

Afterward, I wrapped him in a robe I'd stolen from a hotel, and led him out to sit on the chair while I disposed of the b.l.o.o.d.y sheets. While I remade the futon, Kurt sat behind me, staring at his hands even though they were free of blood. It was far from sunrise but the best thing he could do was to sleep it off.

”Lie down.” I took him by the hand like a child.

He loosened the robe, letting it slip down his body to the floor, sinking to the futon in my arms with a bemused smile. ”f.u.c.k?”

”Go to sleep. You're in no condition.”

”Always ready.” He moaned, grasping the sides of his head in pain. ” He moaned, grasping the sides of his head in pain. ”Scheisse!”

I soothed him, laying myself alongside him. ”It's all right- sleep.”

While he slept it off, I took the bag down to the incinerator and dropped it in. After that was done, I went back to clean the bathroom. As I came back into the room I noticed Kurt's pa.s.sport and wallet lying open on the coffee table. I picked them up and flipped through them. The pa.s.sport was Norwegian, counterfeit. It named him as one Erik Nordstrom, giving his age as twenty-one years, birthplace as Oslo. I picked up the wallet, a few credit cards and about fifty dollars cash were inside and his Norwegian driver's license, also faked. That wasn't what I was looking for. A faded, creased photograph was tucked behind the driver's license, a slender dark-haired man, a pretty blonde woman, a dark haired little girl and Kurt, about thirteen years old, his parents and his sister, a world ago, as he'd said.

He cried out in his sleep. I hugged him tight. ”Kurt, are you all right?”

He muttered a name under his breath, ”Fritz...” and fell quiet again. His eyes moved rapidly below the lids, in a deep dream state, his mind unguarded. I pulled the sheet back from his throat and ran my fingers down his carotid artery. It was too tempting not to take advantage of this, and peek inside at his secrets, not out of malice but concern. I bent my head down and touched my lips to his ear. ”Kurt,” I whispered. ”I want to share with you.” and fell quiet again. His eyes moved rapidly below the lids, in a deep dream state, his mind unguarded. I pulled the sheet back from his throat and ran my fingers down his carotid artery. It was too tempting not to take advantage of this, and peek inside at his secrets, not out of malice but concern. I bent my head down and touched my lips to his ear. ”Kurt,” I whispered. ”I want to share with you.”

He mumbled, but didn't wake. I licked the artery to find the pulse. I knew it wasn't right, but I did it any way. I nicked him in the throat, and sucked on the small wound. Sweetness. Sweetness. Light washed into me for a moment. I climaxed, clinging to him, but suddenly cold mist swirled in around us. As it cleared, I saw a younger version of Kurt huddled on the ground, wet and covered in mud. Through the shadows emerged a tall figure, wearing a uniform with a long coat and cap emblazoned with a skull. The SS officer lit a cigarette and for a moment cold, gray eyes illuminated in the blaze. He dragged on the cigarette, regarding Kurt's wretched state, walking around him in a circle. From his coat pocket he drew a photograph. I didn't need to see it to know what it was. He held it out to Kurt with one hand and beckoned with the other. Kurt's apparition rose as if in a trance and disappeared in the man's embrace. Light washed into me for a moment. I climaxed, clinging to him, but suddenly cold mist swirled in around us. As it cleared, I saw a younger version of Kurt huddled on the ground, wet and covered in mud. Through the shadows emerged a tall figure, wearing a uniform with a long coat and cap emblazoned with a skull. The SS officer lit a cigarette and for a moment cold, gray eyes illuminated in the blaze. He dragged on the cigarette, regarding Kurt's wretched state, walking around him in a circle. From his coat pocket he drew a photograph. I didn't need to see it to know what it was. He held it out to Kurt with one hand and beckoned with the other. Kurt's apparition rose as if in a trance and disappeared in the man's embrace.

Suddenly, Kurt cried out. I drew back as he sprang up. ”Fritz!” ”Fritz!”

”Are you all right?”

”A nightmare,” he muttered, falling back to the bed. He rubbed his head, wincing. ”What time?”

”One.”

He rubbed his eyes. ”Must call Brovik.”

”It's daylight there.”

”He hardly sleeps.” He tried to sit up, grimacing in pain. ”Scheisse! Bring the phone.” He rubbed at his neck and felt the mark. He took his fingers away and stared at the drops of blood on them in disbelief. He looked up at me, horrified. ”What have you done?” Bring the phone.” He rubbed at his neck and felt the mark. He took his fingers away and stared at the drops of blood on them in disbelief. He looked up at me, horrified. ”What have you done?”

”You were having nightmares.”

”How could you? You knew knew I was unguarded!” I was unguarded!”

”I just wanted to understand.”

He grabbed me roughly. ”What did you see?”

”A man, in an SS uniform.”

”How can I ever trust you again?”

Kurt got out of bed. I tried to stop him. ”You're still not well- his blood made you sick.”

”Don't touch me! ” He looked frantically around. ”What have you done with my clothes?”