It was the thing he’d always loved about her. The way she’d tilt her head when looking at him right before she said his name. Her voice always had an amused lilt to it when saying his name, even in the most serious of situations. It was because of this he could never stay mad at her.
Mike and Diane Eggers lived an incredibly normal life, and they very much liked it that way. Every morning Mike went to work, and every morning Diane cleaned the house. Every afternoon Mike went to lunch with friends or a client, and every afternoon Diane went to the supermarket or pruned her rosebushes. Every night Mike drove home from work, and every night Diane prepared his dinner. It was a fine routine they settled into.
However, on this particular normal day in the life of the Eggers, Diane noticed her husband was acting strangely. He seemed distracted and distant when he got home from work. Instead of a kiss and an offer to help her set the table, he brushed past her. He flung his briefcase and jacket over the side of the couch and hurried into the downstairs bathroom, closing the door over.
“Mike?” Diane asked, coming around the counter in the kitchen and walking to the doorframe of the bathroom. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” he assured her, “I just have an awful headache. Do we have any aspirin?”
“Try in the medicine cabinet,” she replied. “When did this start?”
“Right after lunch,” he said. He opened the door, a small white bottle in his hands. He scrunched up his eyes, trying to read the small print without his glasses. “What does this say?” he asked, thrusting it in her hands and hurrying towards the kitchen. He grabbed a glass out of the strainer and filled it with water. He looked up at her expectantly. She hurried forward with the bottle.
“Take two,” she instructed. She perched herself on the stool across from him, the counter spread out between them. She watched as his throat flexed and he swallowed. He closed his eyes for a second and she said, “Wow, Mike, is it really that bad?”
He nodded. “Didn’t think I was going to make it home,” he admitted.
“I saw June Crosby in the market this afternoon,” Diane said. “She had a bit of a headache as well. Maybe it’s just a bug going around?”
“Maybe,” Mike replied distractedly. “Listen, I think I’m going to go lie down.”
“Oh.” She almost let the disappointment slip into her voice. As silly as it sounded, this slight diversion from their normal routine gave her pause. “Of course. Do you want me to bring something in for you later?”
“Maybe.” He loosened his tie and came around the counter. “It smells great, Di, I just feel like crap.” He placed a kiss on the side of her head as he hurried up the stairs. With a cool glass of wine and the television in the living room in front of her, she ate dinner alone for only the second time in their entire marriage. Mike didn’t come down the rest of the night.
When Mike woke the next morning, it seemed as though his headache multiplied ten fold. As he sat up in bed, he immediately clasped onto his forehead, stifling the groan that threatened to escape. His face was scrunched up in silent agony as he took a hand away from his forehead and groped for the aspirin. He managed to open it with two shaky hands and tilted it onto its side, giving it two violent shakes. He didn’t bother counting the number of pills as he downed them dry. They slowly slid down his throat, which highlighted how sore and cracked it felt.
“Great,” Mike thought to himself. He mustered up the strength to pull himself out of his sitting position and stumbled into the bathroom. He flicked on the vanity light and, as he caught sight of himself, almost let out a barking laugh. “Of course,” Mike said to himself aloud. “On the day of the big pitch I would look like a zombie.” He snorted, which ricocheted up to his head and then he grimaced.
He scuffed back into the bedroom to grab some clothes and tossed them on the bed. Diane stirred across from him and shifted, causing the blanket to fall off her shoulder. As he slipped his shirt off of the hanger, he glanced over at Diane. He followed the slope of her shoulder up to her pale, smooth neck. He imagined sinking his teeth into it, pulling back the flesh and tendon as she struggled beneath him.
Mike dropped his shirt and shook his head in a bemused manner. The image was brief, a flicker through his mind, but it upset him terribly. He hurried into the bathroom. He stood in front of the mirror and looked into his bloodshot eyes. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, calming his accelerated heart rate.
“Mike?” Diane called from the next room. “Feel better?”
“Yeah,” he lied. He turned the faucet on and splashed cold water onto his face. He desperately pushed his previous thought from his brain.
He managed to elude Diane for the forty-five minutes he was at home before he headed into the office. Had she seen him, she would have insisted he stayed home and rested. As awful as it made him feel, he didn’t want to be anywhere near Diane this morning.
As he rushed out the door, trying to ignore the persistent pounding behind his eyes, he dropped a kiss on her forehead and hurried out the backdoor.
“Wait!” Diane cried, though he pretended not to hear her. It wasn’t until he was in the comfort of his car the he allowed himself to be overwhelmed by the pain racking through his head. He rested his head on the steering wheel for a second before, with a deep, calming breath, sat up, shakily jabbed the key into the ignition and backed out of the driveway.
The ride seemed to take longer than usual. As Mike suffered through bumper to bumper traffic, he glanced to the driver on his left. Mike frowned slightly as he noticed the man in the car next to him rubbing his forehead in the same manner Mike had been doing minutes previously. Mike looked forward and then to his right. He was not as perfectly aligned with this driver, but, from what he could see, she was rubbing her throat. He saw her grimace as she coughed. Mike looked forward again.
The elevator ride up to his office was crowded as usual. Mike stood in the back corner of the elevator and glanced at the faces of the people around him. They all looked as though they were in agony.
“I don’t know,” said the woman in front of him to her friend as Mike tilted his head slightly to hear their conversation. “It came on suddenly. Probably just something going around the office.”
“Maybe,” the friend replied. “But yesterday when we went to Miller’s for lunch the waitress coughed right in my face.”
“Oh my God,” the first woman replied. “That’s disgusting. You didn’t tip her, did you?”
“Hello no,” the friend replied. “You don’t cough in my face and get tipped. Oh, hey, it’s our floor.”
The two women stepped out of the elevator, followed by four others. Mike let his back rest against the wall as the elevator neared his floor. His head felt as though it were going to explode and he fumbled for the bottle of aspirin he had slipped in his pocket before leaving the house that night.
After stepping out of the elevator, he was immediately greeted by his secretary, Caitlin. She was, as always, way too happy for that early in the morning.
“You look like crap,” she informed him.
“Thank you, Caitlin,” he replied dryly, “I feel like crap. Meeting still a go?”
“Still a go,” she replied. “Though Dennis and Martin look just as bad as you do.” She gave him a small smile. “Flu? Cold? Swine? What can I expect to catch in the next few days?”
Mike tried to answer her, but he had barely heard a word she said. He was more concerned with the smooth skin of her neck. Much like this morning, a lightening flash of a thought passed through his mind and he desperately tried to suppress it. He saw her neck tilt slightly and he fought the growing urge to grasp it and snap it, which he was confident he would be able to do, and then he could enjoy it all he liked.
“Mr. Eggers?” Caitlin placed a hand on his shoulder and he snapped back to attention.
“What? I’m sorry, Caitlin,” he said, more apologizing for his thoughts than for his not hearing her.
“Are you sure you’re good for this meeting? I could always try to push it back.”
“No. No,” Mike said, shaking his head and trying to look anywhere but her neck. He realized he was sweating. “I’ll be fine.” He glanced down at his watch. “Come by in thirty minutes and we’ll prep.”
“Sounds good. Want some coffee?” She frowned worriedly, her eyes on his forehead, which he knew was dripping with sweat.
“Sure.”
He hurried into his office and shut the door over. He took a few calming breaths and put his face in his hands. His headache was worse than this morning, to the point where he could think of nothing else. He should have been preparing for the meeting, but all he could think about was the violent pounding behind his eyes.
Much sooner than he was prepared for, there was a knock on the door. Caitlin entered, carrying a cup of coffee and a doughnut.
“Thought you could eat something,” she said, placing them both on his desk. “Are you sure you don’t want me to cancel?” She leaned over him to adjust the blinds behind him and as she did he caught a whiff of her shampoo and…something else. It was unlike the citrusy shampoo and more sharp and potent. Time seemed to still and he swore he could hear her heartbeat and the rushing of blood through her veins. His mouth watered as he imagined taking the small letter opener from his desk drawer and making the tiniest of slits at the base of her wrist, just enough for a pearl of blood to seep out for him to taste.
Mike jolted forward and shoved her away from him.
“I’m sure, Caitlin,” Mike snapped. He noticed she pursed her lips and, on a better day, would have felt a pang of guilt for snapping at her, but today he very much wanted her away from him. “I’m all set in here by myself. I’ll call you if I need anything.”
“Oh, okay,” she said, sounding slightly confused.
Mike waited for her to close the door over before he slunk down in his seat. He closed his eyes and rubbed at his temple, desperately wishing for relief. For the first time since his father died, he felt the prickling feeling of tears gather in his eyes. He didn’t understand. He wasn’t a violent man, barely raised his voice to anyone, but suddenly all he could think about was clawing at his secretary’s throat until it bled.
His thoughts only seemed to get worse the more people in a room. As the meeting progressed, he was transfixed with Harry Brewer’s meaty neck. Much like with Caitlin, he could almost hear the blood rushing through the fat man’s body and, though he tried to rationalize it, all he wanted to do was taste it. Just one little taste and he knew he’d be fine.
“Mr. Eggers?”
Mike turned towards his boss, Mr. Eckleson, who was looking at him expectantly. He realized it was his turn and he jumped to attention. He clumsily got his papers together and made his way to the front of the room. He glanced around at the other people and noticed Martin and Dennis were sick, as was Nancy Fredricks, one of the CEOs. As he began his presentation, his attention became transfixed on Nancy. She was breathing heavily, a frown on her face as she stared across the table at Henry. Mike found himself losing focus on his presentation, though hardly anyone noticed.
Mike was just about to wrap it up, when Nancy started shaking violently. All eyes turned to her and, before anyone could react, she lunged at Henry, knocking him backwards and onto the floor. There was a second of stunned silence until a scream filled the room and Henry started writhing on the floor. Mr. Eckleson yanked Nancy from Henry and shoved her back. Blood splattered onto Mike and he looked in horror as it dribbled down her face. Her eyes were wild and, the usually cold and stiff Nancy, began to stick out her tongue as far as it would go and lick at the gooey red liquid smudged on her face.
Mike felt a small droplet of blood roll down his cheek and he caught it with the pad of his index finger. Time seemed to slow again, the chaos in the room faded into the background as all of his attention lingered on the small droplet of blood in front of his face. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he stuck out his tongue and licked it.
For one glorious second the pain in his head and the scorching of his throat faded and he regained his sanity. Horror from what happened moments ago sank in, but, just as suddenly, his headache returned with a violent throb. The smell of the blood and taste of it on his tongue caused him to shake in excitement, as Henry bled out on the floor in front of him.
“No!” his mind screamed, sanity returning. “Get out of there!”
Mike complied and ran from the boardroom. The usually crowded cubicles seemed deserted and he barely registered a blood stain on the carpet to his right. As he got into his office and closed the door over, he began to pace. The need to go back into that boardroom and sink his teeth into that dead man’s throat felt so natural. It felt so right, yet he knew it was wrong.
“Mr. Eggers?” Caitlin was standing at the door. “How did the…Is that blood?”
“What?” Mike looked down and, sure enough, a slight splattering of blood brightened up his dull white work shirt. “Yes,” he replied.
“Are you hurt? What happened?”
Mike looked up at her concerned face and began to breathe heavily. He saw her mouth moving and knew she was speaking to him, but he could not hear her. All he could think about was what her blood tasted like. The urge to find out was nearly crippling. His head and throat were screaming in pain to the point he couldn’t think clearly anymore. And screaming even louder was a little voice in the back of his head that commanded, “DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!”
Finally, he could take it no more.
Strawberries. Her blood tasted like strawberries.
It wasn’t until after he had drained her dry and the pain faded away that his sanity returned. He glanced down at the young girl in front of him and let out a cry of disgust. His hands and shirt were drenched in blood and he could still taste it on his tongue. He leaned over, braced himself on the carpet and vomited.
His only thought was to get home, to get away from the office and into the safety of his home. Diane would help him figure it out. She always knew what to do.
Mike was too hysterical to think of the ramifications of returning to his home, of unleashing himself on his poor, unsuspecting wife. He managed to fool himself the entire drive home, a surreal experience in and of itself. Cars were upturned, sirens blared, but no traffic, so that was a plus.
As Mike pulled into the driveway, he saw the silhouette of Diane in the window and clenched onto the steering wheel. The pounding in his head was returning, but he knew he could stave it off. For her he would.
Diane glanced up when he entered through the backdoor. Her look of concern turned to horror as she took in the sight of him.
“Is that blood? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” he replied weakly.
She came forward and he caught a whiff of her scent. She smelled sweeter than Caitlin.
“Whose blood is this? What’s going on?”
“I’m thirsty,” he said softly.
“What?” she snapped. She was looking at him, an angry expression upon her beautiful face.
“I’m thirsty,” he repeated. He advanced towards her and she immediately took a step back. The pounding resumed in his head even as he violently tried to push it away. He wanted a few more minutes with her before he left for good.
“Did you hurt someone?” she asked, her voice reaching a hysterical pitch. “Did someone hurt you? Answer me!”
“I have to go, Diane,” he said hoarsely.
“Go? Where?”
Pain seared through him and he staggered back. Diane went to put a comforting hand on his shoulder and he recoiled in fear. He knew relief was in front of him. He knew what he had to do in order to feel better. Coming here was a mistake.
His throat screamed and his head threatened to explode from the pain and Mike could take it no more. There was no more reasoning, no more thought. He shoved Diane into the counter and ignored her cry of surprise and pain. He took a second to inhale her scent for one last time, when she broke through his concentration.
“Mike?” she asked. “Please don’t.” She knew what was coming. “Mike!” It was the thing he’d always loved about her. The way she’d tilt her head when looking at him right before she said his name. Her voice always had an amused lilt to it when saying his name, even in the most serious of situations.
He lunged forward to sink his teeth into her neck and, as he did, Diane’s right hand raised in a violent, jerky motion. The butcher knife jabbed under his chin into his head at an awkward angle. It didn’t kill him, but caused him to recoil and sink to the floor. Diane was sobbing as she yanked it out and stabbed him again. The blade managed to sink into his temple. Diane was crying hysterically, chanting his name.
“Mike! Mike! Mike!”
He twitched once. No, despite everything, he couldn’t stay mad at her.
