As I had guessed, I was asked to leave the school. The Dean called me in and explained that, while he and the rest of the staff could assure me that they believed in my innocence, they could not be liable for any actions that might occur on campus. It would be better, they thought, for me to continue my studies later, after the matter was resolved. Perhaps at another school?

The papers were ghastly. One reporter in particular, a Mr. Thomas Walker, seemed to have already convicted me of the crime. Each day's paper contained at least one story condemning the police for not yet convicting me, or damning the fact that I was allowed to walk free in public. There was a call for a protest! Luckily for me, it rained on the day they had scheduled.

I was a prisoner in my own home. Any semblance of friendship I had with anyone in town quickly washed away. I took to writing letters to the editors of the very papers that were calling for my execution, proclaiming my innocence and how the police should be looking for the real killer. Not one was published.

What made it most unbearable is that I did not see Judith again. I thought for sure that she had left me for good. I was miserable. I wrote letters to her, poems. But, of course, I had nowhere to send them. I look back on them now and realize that I was obsessed. She was the one bright spot in my life and I focused on her like a drowning man focuses on the shore. Only the shore was nowhere to be found.

I know that I hardly knew her, that in all of the time we had spent together, I knew nothing but her name, and that she seemed to like my poetry. She was the most skilled and passionate lover I had ever been with. She was everything that I had ever dreamed about in a lover, she opened my eyes to things I had never seen, never felt. I missed her touch. I missed her smell. I missed her eyes looking at me as if she were memorizing my every feature.

I was walking from the market late one evening, with my packages of meat and wine. It began to rain. The man at the market had looked at me as if I might attack him at any moment; he laid his large butcher's knife on the counter by his side and eyed it to let me know that he would use it at the slightest provocation. The walk home was long. I was yearning to open the bottle of wine and drink my way to acceptance. It seemed that the people on the street cleared out of my path like I carried the plague. I probably imagined it, but in my anger, I felt as though I had been shunned out my own life. I was tired of the looks of accusation, the blatant misrepresentations of fact in the papers, the panicked looks I received from the people I used to know.

He struck me by surprise. I fell to the ground, landing on my packages. I felt the bottle of wine break beneath me. I looked up as his foot landed in my side. I could hardly catch my breath. I was grabbed by the collar of my coat and dragged into the dark shadows of the alley. The man who struck me repeatedly on my face was young, no more than a boy. I had never seen him before. I felt my lip swell and tasted blood.

"Bastard!" he pounded me in the chest.

"Who?" It was all of the question I could speak. My breath was beaten from my lungs, I coughed and blood splattered his shirt.

"She was my sister!" I felt his foot crash into the side of my head. My ears rang as my head hit the wet, soft ground.

I braced myself for the next blow when I heard the sound of an impact, the dull thud of body against body. I looked up and saw the young man's head twist violently out of alignment with the rest of his body. I heard the sound of cracking vertebrae. He fell limp in the mud next to me; his eyes fixed on mine with a blank, dead stare. I looked up and saw Judith. Her hair fell in wet clumps across her angrily contorted face. I was frightened. I felt my body began to shake.

She pulled me to my feet with unimaginable strength. I was in shock, from the beating and the image before me.

"We have to go. Can you run?"

I stared blankly as she grabbed my hand and led me deeper into the alley. I heard the sound of the police as we receded into darkness. She dragged me to the alley's end. I stopped, breathless, looking around. It was a dead end.

"Wait!" I labored for my breath.

"There is no waiting now." She reached over and put her arms around me, I looked into her eyes and did not resist.

We were over the wall before I knew it. She carried me like a child and I don't remember how, but we were suddenly out of the rain. The room was cold and dark; I could hear the city outside.

"Where are we?"

"Some place safe, for now."

She reached out and touched my swollen face.

"What have I done?" She began to cry.

I sat on the floor. Where to begin; I was lost in the confusion of the past half-hour. I hoped that it was a dream but the pain in my side told me it was real. She paced in the shadows of the room. Neither of us spoke. I stared at her; she was still beautiful, but something had changed. I was afraid of her.

"What are you?"

She did not answer. She did not even look over at me as I sat, cold and wet on the floor. I tried to explain it all to myself. There was no reasonable explanation. I had not actually seen her break his neck, but I knew it was true. Worse, I knew that she had killed his sister, too. And I could not reconcile myself to that fact.

"Why?" I asked, "Why did you kill her?"

She stopped her pacing and looked at me where I sat. She said nothing as she walked slowly over to me. I had never seen such sadness in anyone's eyes.

"Why did you do it?"

She continued her slow glide toward me. She wanted to say something; I could see it.

"You murdered her! How? Why?" I was raging, in pain, angry. "It was you I wanted. Why did you have to kill her? Why did you have to keep disappearing?"

She stopped in front of me, towering over me like a goddess. I looked up at her and saw her tears. I cannot describe the sadness of her look. I have only seen that look once, since, and not on her face. I have thought, since, that it must have been like the look on God's face when he realized Adam's sin. I began to cry.

"I'm sorry, Andrew," she said, "There's no other way."

There was no time for questions after that. She was on me like light. I felt her hold me, at once passionate and forcefully. I felt myself slipping, falling out of consciousness. I felt her kiss my face as I faded away, my neck. I felt the sting of her teeth.

I awoke in a pool of vomit and urine. I looked around; it was dark. I had no idea when it was, but I felt ill, my body ached. My head was so heavy I could not lift it from the pillow. The stench of my own body was repulsive. I vomited down my chin and the side of my face. The liquid went into my nose and I gagged. I coughed and sputtered. I thought I was dying.

"You cannot die. Not as long as I am with you." She sat in a chair in the corner of the room. It was dark, but slowly the outlines came into shape.

"What's happening?"

"I'm taking you."

"Taking me, taking me where? What's happening to me?" I felt the tears hot against my face.

"Nowhere and everywhere. I'm taking you into me and giving you freedom."

"I don't understand."

"You will."

I blacked out again for what must have been days. I remember coming to half-consciousness a few times. She was always there. Once, she held a warm liquid to my mouth and I drank. It brought such relief, but then my stomach cramped and I vomited again. I could see the bloody liquid run all over the front of her blouse as she held me. I was ashamed.

When I next remember waking, I felt stronger. It was still dark; I assume many nights later. I sat up in my bed. I was wearing fresh clothes and the linens were clean. She had taken good care of me in my sickness. I looked around in the darkness. She was sitting in the chair again; I could feel her eyes on me. She was not alone.

She led the other person to the bed with her. It was a young girl. She was dirty, disheveled. My guess was that she was an orphan, a bum from the streets. She did not smell, though. That is to say, she did not smell like you would expect one so unwashed and dirty to smell. Her odor filled my nostrils and I felt my stomach cramp with hunger. I held tightly to my stomach and looked at her. She looked blankly back, as if in a trance.

"What is this?"

"She is for you."

I took the poor, dirty girl into my arms. I cannot explain to you the emotions and thoughts that were racing through my head. I held her; she was warm, warm like I had never felt before. I could feel her heart beating. It rang in my ears until I could hear nothing else. I pulled at the dirty rags that she wore and exposed her neck, her shoulders and her small breasts. I kissed her mouth, her face, and her neck. The pulse of her veins tickled my lips, my incisors pricked at her skin. I felt them grow in my mouth, my jaw ached slightly as they extended. I bit down and my eyes went red.

Over the next two weeks, she brought them to me. I had to feed every day then. At first I wasn't even aware of what I was doing. I took them, fed from them instinctively and usually lost consciousness in the ecstasy of it. When I would become aware of my surroundings, they would be gone. She, mercifully, did not make me deal with the bodies then. I was not ready for that. I don't know how I knew to do what I did to them, how I knew how to feed. I can only tell you now that it came quite naturally. Not once, at first, did I question what I had become. I don't know what that says about the kind of person I was before, or what I have become since. I felt no guilt.

After a while, I remember watching her lead them to me, like gifts she presented them, all so young, all beautiful in their own dirty ways. I would watch her watching me. I know now that she was watching to make sure I stopped. I had no control then, no subtlety! She would pull me off of them in the instant before they died. I understand now, though in the ecstasy of the moment, I cannot say I was aware of it then. There is nothing worse than going past when they die, I can tell you from experience! The heart stops and the blood goes bad, like milk souring in the glass, one minute it's fine, the next, curdled. It's like the force goes out of them, they go limp and you can feel the spirit, for lack of a better word, leaving them. It's fascinating, really. But, it leaves a horrible taste in your mouth!

I can only describe it like this: A baby, a newborn of any species, is not aware that it eats. It has a need, a craving for nourishment. It does not know that when it bites on its mother's tit it causes pain. A baby is not aware of the source of its nourishment, only the need for it. I was a newborn, a baby, if you will. I did not consider the source for my satisfaction, I only required that my needs be met.

I first became really aware of what it was I did to gain my nourishment two and a half weeks later. She was another pretty young girl, no more than ten years old. Her black hair made her green eyes glow. She smiled as she came to me; I found out later that she was hypnotized in a way that I cannot describe. Judith took them first, and after that they came willingly; it numbs the mind. There must be some kind of chemical in our bite that causes this reaction; I haven't a good explanation for it, it just happens. To be honest, there are times now, when I wish there was more of a fight. I can control its effect sometimes, with some; if they are strong willed by nature they tend to resist. It makes it more challenging, more fun. But I suppose it's impolite to play with your food!

She came willingly over to me with this angelic smile on her face and her gorgeous green eyes looking longingly at me. I found myself strangely attracted to this young girl. She was beautiful, so innocent. She was clean, well dressed; her hair was beautifully combed. Not at all like the others had been. This was no child of the streets, washed with the dirt of everyday existence. She was untouched, an image of innocence, an angel. I saw for the first time what I had taken from them all, their innocence. Their lives.

She sat on my lap like a child at Christmas and looked up at me, expecting her gift. I looked up and saw Judith standing above me. She looked concerned.

"Take her."

"I can't."

"You must."

I kissed the girl, first on the cheek, then the lips. She tasted like candy. I could feel her heartbeat, smell her. She felt so warm on my lap, so alive. I felt the teeth pushing forward. I was drawn to her neck. She laughed as my hair brushed her face. The first drops were so delicious, I felt as if I hadn't fed in weeks. The redness came, but I was still aware of the little one on my lap. She giggled, softly, again and I pulled away.

"What are you doing?"

"I can't."

"You have to or you will die. Don't think of her, she's not there anymore."

It was a lie. I could feel her spirit wrestling my control. She was strong. Her eyes glowed with life. She was still a little girl, a beautiful little girl. I knew then that if I fed, she would die.

"She's dead already!"

"No, she's still alive!"

I stood and set the child on the floor. I was starving, I was drawn to her, wanted her, longed to sink into her and feel her rush through me. I walked away and faced the wall. My body shook violently with hunger. I could smell her across the room.

I heard the child scream as Judith grabbed her by the throat. The scream choked off to a gurgle, and then silence. I turned to see her lifeless body flung like a rag to the floor.

I stormed out. I had not been outside since I had changed. The world outside had changed. Gone were the gloomy streets and dark alleys I was used to. In their place was a world of no shadows, no hidden corners, no sudden stumbling in the dark. It was as though the lights of every household and every shop and every street were turned on at once. It was not bright; it was definitely night; I looked up to see the stars to be sure. But I could see everything, and everyone! And no one, it seemed was noticing me. At least not until, in my mad staring at stars and alleys, I bumped in to the police, literally.

There were two of them, and for a moment it seemed as though they would not recognize me. I apologized and began to go on my way as the fat one flipped through the sheaf of pictures that he held. I was half way down the block when he found what he was looking for and called out to me to stop. When I didn't, they gave chase.

I could easily have lost them both; I found speed beyond what I ever imagined. I was raging, starving. The fat one soon fell back behind his more-fit partner. I ran down a dark side street and stopped in the shadows of the houses. Soon, he caught up to me. As if sensing my presence, he stopped. He looked around into the shadows of the surrounding alleys as if expecting me to lunge at him out of the darkness. Little did he know.

He never saw me coming, though I grabbed him from the front. He was much lighter than I expected, or I was much stronger, and I easily made the leap to the fire escape above us. I felt his arm break as I dragged him up three flights before stopping. He looked at me in terror. I think that I smiled. He started to scream but I brought his lips to mine and, finding his tongue, severed it with one quick bite. He started to pass out on me, so I slapped him across the face. I was just learning my strength and felt his jaw shatter under the blow. His eyes were wild, nothing like the sweetness of the child. He tasted like fear.

I stood, my hunger satisfied, on a nearby rooftop and watched as the fat one finally caught up. He was out of breath and panting. He paused, looked up, and screamed, his voice like that of a castrato. I had left his partner, drained, dangling from the fire escape by his belt, carefully positioned so he hung with his mouth wide open. I could only imagine the view the fat one had of his tongue-less partner.

That day I slept in an old warehouse, covered in oily canvas. It was the first of many nights in such places that I have had. In the evening, I felt the hunger again. I also felt something that I have grown to love. The desire to hunt! Looking back, I can only say that I was a natural. I have been around a few new ones who could not stomach the killing. They resisted until they almost withered away! It came naturally to me. And I knew exactly what I wanted.

He emerged from the offices late. He was easy enough to pick out of the small group, I had seen his face many times in the papers. I followed at a distance. They went into a small bar a few blocks down from their office. I followed them inside. I sat at the bar watching them in their little booth in the corner. The walls above them were scattered with framed articles and clippings. This was, apparently, a regular spot. I ordered a glass of Chablis, but I found that I had lost my palate for wine.

They talked and laughed for a long time before paying their check. As luck would have it, they all shook hands outside on the street and parted ways. He walked alone down the street headed north. I closed my distance until I could hear his labored breath. I could smell him sweating.

I was right on top of him when he became aware of me. He glanced over his shoulder; the look of panic on his face was priceless! I placed my arm in his. He tried to pull away, but I locked my arm against his. I heard the pop of his shoulder as the arm pulled out of socket. He stumbled into me but kept on walking.

"Mr. Walker, how nice to see you." I said as we approached his doorway. "Won't you invite me in?"

"Christwyne?" His voice broke, "what, what do you want?"

"I would like to come in, yes, very much, thank you!"

His hand shook so much he could barely turn the key in the lock.

I had planed to torment him, drive in a little fear before I did it. But, in the excitement of the moment, I almost lost him instantly. He had barely closed the door when I was on him. He whimpered like a little dog! I could see his face in the hallway mirror as I grabbed the back of his head and sunk into his neck. I could feel him pulling to get free, so I pulled harder. I felt the rip and looked up to the chunk of scalp hanging limply in my hand. He reached around and held his head as he fell to the floor.

"Get out!" he screamed, the pitch much too high for a man of his stature.

"Why?" I stared at him as he began to cry, tears rolling over his round, fat cheeks.

"Murderer!" he yelled, "You'll never get away with this!" He flung out with his arm, flinging little strands of damp hair onto my pant leg.

"But, I think otherwise." I smiled as I grabbed his wrist and pulled him to his feet. I held him up against the mirror; his broken wrist hung loosely over my grip. His feet kicked out at me as I kissed his mouth, his face, and sunk again into his fat, lumpy neck. After a moment, he lost consciousness and I dragged him into the front room and tossed him onto a couch.

"Wake up." I slapped him hard; I felt his jaw crack and three teeth landed on the cushion next to him in a spit of blood.

He looked sobbingly up at me as I loosened his tie.

"Stop crying." I said, "There is something that you must know."

"What?" His immobile jaw muffled his voice.

"You should be much more careful whom you accuse of murder." I pulled at his shirtfront, the fabric ripped, "now I have to live up to your charge." He sat there with his grotesquely heaving belly. "You disgust me."

He tried to speak as I grabbed his lower jaw and with one swift pull ripped it from his skull. His eyes, bugged with terror, watched as I began digging in the great folds of flesh with his own teeth. He tried to pass out a couple of times, but the human body has an amazing ability to withstand pain, given the right stimulation. It wasn't until I began to pull out his upper intestine that I think he finally died, choking on his own blood and vomit.

It was still relatively early when I left him. I was much too worked up to want to rest. I decided to walk down by the old library; maybe I would get lucky and find some lonely wanderer to talk to. I was completely satiated, but I was in the mood for the kill, maybe I would find some interesting prey.

It was a quiet night; the moon was half hidden by the dark rolling clouds. It smelled like it might rain. I approached Library Square from the north, down an alley that smelled like old spaghetti. Sometimes, the smell of food makes me miss it; my stomach could not handle it now. This smell made me miss nothing.

I stood in the shadows on the corner as the tiny sprinkles of rain began to fall. It was still in the square. The only people I could see were the two or three homeless camped out sleeping on or under the benches near the poplar trees. They were no fun; they had already given up on life and I would be doing them a favor. I wanted someone with more desire. I sensed her before I saw her.

She stood across from me some two hundred yards or so, lurking in the shadows of the bank building, motionless. I could feel her eyes on me, watching me watch her. I had never felt anything like this before, well, not since I changed. I was afraid.

I watched her emerge from the shadows. She walked cautiously into the dark light of the square. I could see that she was pale, with dark blonde hair flowing behind her on the breeze. She was dressed in a dark dress, not unlike some of the artists and writers that often roamed this area of town. She was much more, though. She was like me.

She stopped a few feet from an old man, sleeping unknowingly on a bench. She looked at him for a few moments, and then looked back in my direction. There was no way that she should have been able to see me, I had not flinched, had not even blinked, but I knew that she knew exactly where I was. I could feel her eyes scanning me. I have never felt so vulnerable. Suddenly, she turned and ran.

I could not help it, I ran after her. It took only a second to cross the width of the square. I darted into the alley that she had taken, barely slowing to look around. She was gone. I wandered the alleys and side streets around the Library, hoping to see her again. She was not to be found. She had simply vanished.