Bomber flipped open the newspaper that Lorenco left for him. Bomber knew that the news was old, since it was a morning edition, but he at least wanted to see the front page. He would skim that, the front page of the sports section when there was hockey (casual Flyers fan), and on Wednesdays, the food section for recipes. He still wanted to cook, though Lorenco didn’t seem to trust him in the kitchen.
He turned to page two and his eye was caught by the headline, PPD Sued Over Alleged Rape Investigation.
Attorney Matthew Parks has sued the PPD and a local gay club over an investigation of a recent alleged rape of a man at the club.
Parks alleges that the police did not use “due diligence” in investigating a report of a rape of a black man at the Port of Call bar in December. “The victim is a black man, and gay,” he stated in a press conference. “Of course the police don’t care.”
Parks also alleges that his victim was taken into the bathroom and sodomized by someone in the club, allegedly a white man. “This is no longer just a rape, but a hate crime. My client was violently raped in that club. The club is solely responsible for the safety of its customers and should be held accountable.”
The victim, he continued, is allegedly so injured that “he no longer can continue the quality of life he once had.” Parks would not go into the details, and requested that the records remain sealed by the court in order to ensure confidentiality to his client. “He’s hurt enough. He doesn’t need to be hauled out of the closet by the press.”
The PPD and the management of Port of Call have declined comment.
Bomber stared at the story, and read it again. He knew he had raped a man in that bar, and fed deeply from him at the same time. He remembered that distinctly.
The man gave him the name of Peter. Peter was a big, strapping man in a business suit that accented his size. The man was looking for a quick lay, and Bomber was looking for dinner. He knew that the man would be fooled that he’d had sex when fed upon, just like he did to so many people in bars who looked at him with lust in their eyes.
Bomber he had given him the name of Brian. Both of them soon escaped into the bathroom. Then Peter tried to throw Bomber against the wall. Bomber quickly turned the tables on him, throwing him hard into the wall. At the thought of the man trying to take him, he grew angry, and chose to punish him and have dinner at the same time.
Unlike Lorenco, who could heal when “broken”, this was a human. Peter probably didn’t heal. Bomber could only imagine how many bones he broke, and what he had done. It wasn’t pretty.
Bomber bit his lip in indecision. He was responsible for destroying this man’s life. He didn’t mean to do it, not that hard. He should make amends. This guy was fucked up because of him.
First, he needed to find out who he was. He glanced at the clock – it was early enough that maybe someone was still at that attorney’s office. Or he could go to the club, but he doubted he’d get the name from anyone there. He used 411 to get the attorney’s number, then dialed it. He pressed seven for the directions and fax number.
After leaving a note for Lorenco saying he would be back soon, he headed to the office located in Talos Island. When he got there, the door to the office was wide open. He could hear a vacuum cleaner going.
He walked into the office, glancing at a couple of the names on the office doors. He saw Matthew Parks’ name, and looked across to the desk nearest his office. His legal secretary would most likely be there. Bomber went to the desk and pawed through some of the large legal folders there. He was careful to try and keep them in order.
Then toward the middle of the pile he found the folder. There was a copy of two subpeonas, one against the PPD and the other against the Port of Call. The man’s name was Peter Kandall, and his address was further on down the subpoena to the police, along with a case number. The document went into detail of what happened – the man had been sodomized by a “foreign object” that tore his colon and intestines so much that he needed a colostomy bag for the rest of his life. He’d no longer be able to go to work. He wouldn’t be able to leave his house for extended periods. This also didn’t include the “pain and suffering”.
“Who are you?”
Bomber whirled at the Spanish accented voice, almost toppling the papers. Three Hispanics were staring at him, one with a vacuum on his back. Bomber glared at them and hissed, fangs bared, his eyes going dark.
They bolted.
He wondered if they would remember and tell the police. He wasn’t about to stick around to find out.
——————
Peter didn’t want to sleep. The nightmare would come again. This nightmare repeated the events at the club. He would wake up in a cold sweat, hard as a rock, or the sheets wet near his crotch.
How could it be a nightmare? He remembered not the pain, but the ecstacy, like nothing he’d ever felt before. That’s what filled his being even while he was being torn apart inside. That’s what he wanted again.
There was a knock at his door. Curious, he put down the book he was reading, and got up, hitching the bag to his ever-present belt. He pulled on his bathrobe, tucking it around the bag.
He peered out the peep hole and then jerked his head back, his heart suddenly beating so hard and fast that it would fly out of his chest like he’d seen in many cartoons. He looked around his house – where could he go? He needed to escape.
“Open the door. I know you’re right behind it.”
He felt like a trapped jackrabbit, and the man outside was the wolf. Could he break down the door if he didn’t let him in?
“I can help you.”
“Help me?” Peter turned to the door and glared at it accusingly. “You’re the one who did this!”
“I know. I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you.”
“Fuck you!”
There was a pause. “I can heal you.”
“Oh yeah? How?”
“Let me in and I’ll explain.”
Part of him screamed, “NO, NO, NO!” but the part that wanted the ecstacy was the one that unlocked the door. Peter saw Brian standing there, wearing black sunglasses. Brian stepped into the apartment and took off the glasses slowly. Again, like when he first saw him, Peter was drawn into the man’s deep blue eyes.
“Still going to the gym, I see.”
“I have my own set,” Peter said, motioning to the living room that was down three steps from the doorway. A full weight set was there, as well as a Bowflex next to it, a treadmill, and an elliptical.
Peter turned around, not allowing him to come any further into the apartment. “You said you could heal me?”
He nodded. “All you need to do is drink something.”
“What?”
The man pulled out a small switchblade. Peter backed away instinctively, thinking it was meant for him. Brian then cut open his vein – the right way for a suicide. Blood welled up, slowly, but thick.
“Are you fucking crazy?”
“No, I’m not.”
Peter looked up at Brian. Brian looked utterly serious. He walked over to the outstretched arm, slowly, as if drawn to it. Then he took a lick of the blood. It tasted, to him, like what could be termed as fine dark chocolate. Sweet, but bitter – then like sweet wine…
He latched himself onto Brian’s arm, sucking on him, swallowing fast. He felt pain in his stomach and rear, but that was no where near the pleasure he was feeling at tasting the man’s blood. Then, all too soon, the font was taken away.
He found himself reaching for him, wanting more of that wonderful elixir. Brian held his own wrist to his mouth for a moment. Peter wanted to attack him, to get more of it, but Brian said, “No.”
Peter looked down and away, chastised.
Brian bent down. He picked up a plastic tube, a square attached to the end. All of it was covered in bright red blood.
Brian held it, staring at it, then slowly let it slip from his fingers. He wiped his hands on Peter’s bathrobe. Peter followed the tube, and saw it led to his bag.
“You’re healed now.”
He looked up at Brian. “How did you–”
“You will tell no one,” Brian said firmly. “You’re not going to tell anybody how you healed.”
Peter nodded, gazing up at him. Then Brian lowered his head, and pressed his lips to his neck. There was a moment of sharp pain, then the total bliss that came from his dream. He had waited for so long it seemed, and this Kiss did not disappoint.
Next thing he knew, he was on the couch, his bathrobe wet at the crotch, and Brian stood over him. Brian touched Peter’s mouth with his fingerip as he slowly roused himself from the ecstasy. “I’ll be back for more sometime,” Brian said.
“Hope so.” Peter kissed the fingertip. Brian turned and let himself out.
Peter didn’t even hear the door close as he drifted off to a peaceful and contented sleep.
Words: 1636
Inspiration: Lorenco’s player’s suggestion
Music: Just as you Imagined (again) – NIN
Comments: Bomber had lost a point of humanity due to this. I had written this story in detail on the Raw Blog. Even though it was written recently, it could have taken place earlier; or this story could take place in February or March. Bomber’s feeding stories are a lot of fun to write, as they’re always an adventure, even with a herd. In order to get the humanity back, he needs to make amends, and this is the first step. This is also the first step for Bomber to make his first ghoul. While Shannon and Lindsey (I’ll bring her back soon, as the muse is still cooking up that story) are willing participants in being his herd, Peter will not be. As usual with his herd, Bomber will keep Lorenco from him in case he gets the bright idea to do something to him.
I also didn’t think I could write a news story. Good thing to know I haven’t lost my touch.
I am also unsure as to whether to put this one up in Warwriter. I’ll think about it, maybe edit it somehow.