I Feel Like… I Feel… Oh, Shit

Irene and I had killed twenty-seven people. Her father owns a massive estate, whose glory days are long behind it, a rundown property three hours outside the city, near a town called Norton. We, Irene and I, pretending to be fun, well-meaning people, would trick our victims into trusting us, then drug them and take them to the estate, where we sent them to the other side in ways that were way too fun, inventive, and always painful. And after we killed them? Well, that was the boring part. We had to dig a hole to bury the remains, maybe dismembered, maybe charred, of the corpses.

Agnes tells me:

"I loved what you did with that guy, the one who was the big promise of this country's politics, a country, like any country in the world, populated by a majority of men and women who embrace ignorance and the most laughable idiocy the universe has ever seen."

Agnes was talking about a man in his early thirties, who, if he hadn't died so horrifically, I have no doubt would've made it to the presidency. I couldn't stand the bastard. He carried himself like a messiah. He said he was the only living being capable of taking the country to the place it deserved to be, but he never said exactly where that place was. That son of a bitch was a classic snake oil salesman. It was Irene who had to approach him and use her charm to bait him, because, in addition to all of that, the miserable bastard was also a heavy-duty womanizer, a sexual devourer. And yeah, a huge wave of happiness coursed through my body when I had that worm in my hands, when I had him at my mercy, there at the estate.

With Irene's father's money (without him knowing, of course), I had ordered a Bull of Phalaris to be made. And what is a Bull of Phalaris? Well, let me tell you: The Bull of Phalaris (or Bronze Bull) was a torture and execution device invented in Ancient Greece, attributed to the tyrant Phalaris of Akragas (modern-day Agrigento, Sicily). In short, it was a large hollow bronze sculpture shaped like a bull. The victim was placed inside it, and then a fire was lit under the bull, heating the metal until the person inside was burned alive. But here's the best part: The design included a system of tubes and valves in the bull's nostrils, which turned the condemned person's screams into sounds that resembled the bellowing of a bull, amplifying the "theatrical" and macabre effect of the punishment.

I remember when the guy who made the Bull of Phalaris for me asked what I was going to do with it. I told him I was going to roast meat. Of course, the guy probably thought I meant beef, pork, or maybe lamb. He never imagined I'd put a human being inside. Let alone a politician he knew very well and even admired, because, when the politician's name came up in conversation, when I asked him what he thought of that idiot, he told me he really liked his ideas.

I said: "Oh yeah? And what exactly do you like about his ideas?"

He said: "Well, I couldn't really specify. But I'll tell you I like everything. The truth is, I don't know much about politics. But, you know, I like that guy. He says the things others are too afraid to say. I'm not sure if those things are right, but hey, that doesn't matter. What matters is I think he's a good guy."

At that moment, I had the urge to make that asshole my next victim, the next one I'd throw into the Bull of Phalaris to cook over an incandescent fire, but well, the urge passed, and I spared his life because he gave me an excellent job. The man was a great craftsman. The bronze bull came out perfect. And of course, in that bull, not only did the charlatan politician die, but also two other people: a conceited, bad actress and a rich kid who played at being a financial broker.

I smile remembering my wickedness. But just for a moment. The smile fades when I think about the fact that I'm going to become a vampire, no matter what, because Agnes won't let me choose. I ask Agnes:

"Why did you decide to do it tonight?"

"Tonight you're the same age I was when you created me. The same age, even down to the months and days."

"What's going to happen with Irene?"

"That's up to you."

"Can you turn her too?"

"I'm not going to do it. But look, as a vampire, you'll be able to handle it. Tell me, do you feel something big for her? Are you in love?"

"I'm not sure exactly what that means. I just know I don't want us to be apart. Nené helped me get out of the shit I was drowning in."

"I'm going to help you. I'm the one who's really going to help you get out of any shit, my love. But hey, if you think you owe her something, that's your problem. Anyway, no more chatter. It's time."

"What do I have to do?" I ask, and just as I finish the question, Agnes's fangs are already in my neck. There's no pain. I feel like I'm about to fall asleep after a tough day at the gym. I fade away. I feel like I'm sinking into heavenly waters full of peace. I don't see anything anymore. I can't open my eyes. Suddenly, I feel drops hit my lips. Oh, damn. I lick my lips and savor that nectar. It's the most delicious thing I've ever tasted. I open my eyes. I'm full of desire, filled with a craving to drink more. That nectar is Agnes's blood. She's made a cut on her wrist. I lunge at the cut and suck like a crazed, thirsty person. Not long after, Agnes roughly pulls me away. I struggle. I want to keep drinking. But she's infinitely stronger. Then, once again, Agnes sinks her fangs into my neck. At that moment, I hear the song Everybody Hurts by R.E.M. in the distance. Although, of course, maybe it's not in the distance, maybe it's just in my head, who knows why. In any case, that music lulls me. I feel like… I feel… Oh, shit.