Free Blood by Stephen Fox

instinct that grows stronger each day until we can’t control it anymore.”
                  West and Cappazoli looked at each other.  Cappazoli spoke first.  “You say ‘ we ’.  So there are more like you?”
                  “Oh certainly.  There are tens of thousands, possibly hundreds of thousands of us worldwide.  We call ourselves ‘The Chosen’.
                  “And you like to kill people.  Is this some kind of cult?”
                  Patrick laughed.  “Heavens, no.  We don’t like to kill.  We have to kill.  We can’t help ourselves.”  He paused for a moment in thought, and continued.  “Well, some enjoy the act of killing, but most of us abhor it.  We truly can’t help ourselves. That’s why I got caught.  I was trying to find an alternative.  If using blood from the blood bank had worked, I could have spread the word and saved many innocent people from being slaughtered.  But it didn’t work.  Apparently the blood must be fresh to act as a catalyst.  Because I waited too long to make the kill, I wasn’t in control enough.  So I got caught.”
                  West scoffed.  “So you sleep all day in a coffin and only come out at night.  Do you wear capes and change into bats too?”
                  Patrick turned to face the Sergeant.  “You mock me, sir.  But I assure you, every word I speak tonight is the truth.  We are not like Count Dracula and the late-night vampires you’re accustomed to seeing on television.  But my ‘kinsmen’ so to speak, are the roots of the vampire legends.  Witnesses to our attacks have spread the tales.”  He drew himself up and turned his head to look each man in the eye.  “Imagine yourself an ignorant sixteenth century peasant coming upon a brutally murdered person from your village, or even your family.  Then imagine seeing a figure covered with blood fleeing the scene.  A scene much like this created the myth as the peasant embroidered his account with exaggerations of his bravery.  Over the years there were enough sightings to keep the myth alive, and growing bigger and more frightening with each telling.  Big fangs, capes, sleeping in graveyard blood and most of the other parts of the legends were added through the years, or invented by people like Bram Stoker to sell books.”
                  Still in a state of shock, Cappazoli jumped in.  “You expect us to believe that?  Is this part of a psychodrama to lay the foundation for an insanity plea?”
                  “ I assure you that it is not.   Every word is the unvarnished truth.  I’m not pleading insanity.  I’m not saying I’m innocent.  I’m merely explaining my need to kill.  It gives me no joy to kill.  With me it’s a necessity.”
                  West’s lip curled with disdain.  “Oh, yeah?  If you hate killing so much, how come you tortured that young man?  Why not just cut an artery and make the kill quick and easy?
                  The suspect raised a hand, palm upward.  “It works better when the blood is liquid.  If it flows too fast the blood dries too quickly, and makes it hard to spread.  I really hate stretching out the bleeding, but it’s necessary.”
                  Cappazoli had a thought.  “Maybe that’s so, but why not knock the kid out?  Why do it when he’s conscious?”
                  West nodded.  “Yeah, if it bothers you so much, why leave him awake and screaming?  He must have been screaming at the top of his lungs.  Or at least gag him?”  He shook his head.  “It sounds like you get off on your victim’s misery and pain.”
                  Patrick squirmed in his chair.  For once he had nothing to say.
                 
                  West left the room and came back with coffee for each of them.  Patrick accepted