Free Milk-Blood by Mark Matthews Page A

flakes of skin of so many before that coated the floors.
    Jervis was home , and the master of this place, and had to do things here even if it made him sad.
    The man’s head swiveled from side to side, and after pausing enough to make sure he was safe, he walked directly to the basement stairs. Just as he took the first step, Jervis hit the man with the only scrap metal in the house that mattered—a rusted out piece of pipe that fit into Jervis’s hand. The man’s skull was crushed under the swing of the metal with a squishy thunk, and he collapsed and bounced down the stairs. His bones tangled, twisted, and snapped on one another, and he landed at the bottom like a rag doll. Jervis followed him into the darkness.
    There were no lights, and the black air of the place hung thick. It was a tomb. Moans came from the man, deep in his chest. The body still lived. Good, he isn’t dead. Were his eyes open? Jervis couldn’t tell, it was too dark, but one more smash of the pipe and another squishy thunk, and the man was unconscious, moaning no more.
    Jervis took out the syringe. It was so dark, he could hardly see it in front of his face, but he could do this blindfolded. He traced his hand and found the man’s neck. It was skinny, but warm, and still pulsing with life. There was smack left in this man’s veins. There always is. He inserted the syringe into the thick blue vein of his neck. It did get messy, he felt the blood spill, but he pulled back the plunger and captured what he needed and filled his syringe. He took the treasure upstairs.
    God it’s been a long time since he’d done this. Why no others shared the blood of others this way he didn’t know. Probably because it was just him who could do this. He had special powers. Milk-blood. His dad showed him the way years ago.
    Jervis pressed the tip of the syringe at his own vein but couldn’t get it to plunge. He needed a new needle. This one wasn’t sharp. He kept poking until it hit his mark, drew some of his own blood, and then mixed in the new.
    Jervis felt a spastic energy, like a quick sneeze or an orgasm. He grunted loud enough to make his chest vibrate. Inside his head, the voices left. New blood pulsed, new thoughts and memories rushed in.
    Yes, the man had been to prison. Sexual assault. The man had crack and dope in his blood. Fresh from today. Jervis could feel that as well. The man had kids too, but they didn’t talk to him anymore. Jervis could feel the scars that built over the man’s hurt that stopped him from caring. The man was as sad as Jervis was, and had traveled the city streets picking up whatever scraps he could find to make life bearable.
    And now they were in side Jervis.
    3547.
    Get my girl.
    Stop the voices.
    Good living one more day.
     

Chapter Nine: Lilly Meets Jervis Close Up
    I was itching all day at school. My skin felt achy and oozing and tingly. My nose was full of wet, draining snots, and I felt hollow inside even though I ate some. When it came time to write our assignments in our green folder, I wasn’t sure if I could make it. I was worried somebody would see me sweat. I wondered who you talked to here if you had to go to the hospital. I knew if they called my dad it would be hard for him to pick me up.
    I can make it. I can make it. As long as everybody here leaves me alone.
    But they didn’t. The counselor called me down to her office and had me talk to another lady who was with her. She wore a badge, had a big brown bag, and asked me all sorts of questions. My answers were short. “Nobody was hurting me,” I told her, “I am skinny because I don’t eat my dad’s dinner,” “I have a heart defect so ask my doctor.” They were disappointed in me when I left. Whatever they wanted to pull out of me, I didn’t want to give it to them. Time to go home.
    I had on a blue hoodie with long drawstrings, and underneath my skin was moist with c old sweat. It was not the sweat that drips down your skin, but the kind that