Free Eternal Darkness, Blood King by Gadriel Demartinos

the old man reached for the glass of scotch and drank.
     
    “Maybe I’m being overoptimistic,” I observed.
     
    The old man put the glass back on the table and poured more whiskey.
     
    “¿Me acompaña?” he said, chuckling. “Would you care to join me?”
     
    The music was beautiful. I decided to listen to it rather than to the old man. I hid my body deep in the darkness of the room. The old man tried to track my movements with his tired eyes. I stood in silence, concealed by the shadows, and looked at him. He had aged badly, and that notion made me smile again.
     
    “¿Estoy hablando solo?” he asked. “Am I talking to myself?”
     
    Suddenly, I approached him, maybe way too fast for his own good. I just felt like toying with him for a bit. With a bit of luck, he could delight me by suffering a heart attack. I grabbed his head violently and opened my mouth. Instinctively, my fangs went for his neck. Then I stopped. I could smell the red liquid under his old skin, and I wanted it all.
     
    “Yes, do it, please!” He said.
     
    His voice distracted me from my murderous intentions. No, it won’t be this easy, I said to myself.
     
    “¿Te gustaría eso no?” I whispered in his ear. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”
     
    The old man closed his eyes. “Yes.” He quickly replied.
     
    “What if I’m here to take instead of give?” I whispered again.
     
    The old man opened his eyes. “¿No es así siempre?” he replied with another question. “Isn’t that always the case?”
     
    That was the old bastard I knew. Deep behind those tired eyes, the killer still existed. Somewhere under that costume of wrinkles and dry skin, the purest evil was waiting for the right purpose to awaken. As much as I loathed him, I also needed him. For now.
     
    I stood near one of the house’s columns, using the shadows as a cover, putting a considerable distance between the old man and me, trying to regain control of my thirst.
     
    “Please don’t leave!” The old man said.
     
    I looked at him from a distance, debating with myself whether to leave or stay.
     
    “You said it yourself. I don’t have much time left,” he continued.
     
    “Why that should be of my concern?” I asked.
     
    He tried to locate me inside the shadows, but his old eyes failed him.
     
    “I have always been faithful to you, haven’t I?” He asked.
     
    “Perhaps,” I said.
     
    “Oh, but I have!” The old man said vehemently.
     
    I loved to see him get all worked up.
     
    “From the moment I found you, fifty years ago in that dirty hole you called home in Texas, you have only craved one thing, more than the love of your dying mother, more than the promises to your lost sister, or the lust for the human flesh of your victims,” I said, slowly coming out from the shadows.
     
    I went to stand in front of the table.
     
    Frank kept his eyes on me. “Our friendship has been bigger than our flaws,” he said.
     
    “¿Amistad?” I asked. “Friendship? Why should I be friends with a dying, drunk rapist, pedophile, cannibal mass murderer like you?”
     
    My words forced him to look down. He was weaker than ever.
     
    “I’ve helped you before, haven’t I?” He asked.
     
    “No. You have helped yourself by helping me before,” I clarified.
     
    The old man’s eyes came back to life. He looked up at me with rage. “So why don’t you end it right here, right now? Put me out of my misery!” He screamed.
     
    I couldn’t help but laugh at him.
     
    He stood there, watching me.
     
    “That’s the old Frank, the one who breathes evil,” I said, controlling myself. “In times, you have been helpful, I must admit.”
     
    The old man took a couple of deep breaths, still watching me. “So that’s why you’re here?” He asked.
     
    I regained my composure. “Maybe you could be helpful again.” I proposed.
     
    The old man grew serious, his face expression telling me he was almost offended. “Tal vez,” he said.