"There is a way. Come."
"Nothing you do can prove this is real," I say, smiling at his sour expression.
"Care to bet on that?"
We go down the elevator to the first floor and he speaks to one of the guards, who removes a set of keys from a cabinet.
"Let's go," he says and pulls me outside into the chill night air. "I have something to show you."
We take the highway to Franklin Park. It's very late and the parking lot is empty. Michel helps me out of the car and takes my hand, leading me into the heart of the park beneath the trees. I'm following him in my nightgown and trench coat.
Deeper in the grove of trees, the scent of wet pine is strong. Memories of pine trees and the crash of surf against the rocks brings a feeling of melancholy that chases away my sense of abandon from earlier. We come upon people, some alone, some in pairs or small groups. They're smoking crack and shooting up. Others watch, waiting their turn. Michel releases my hand and motions for me to stay where I am.
I can see him despite the darkness, but the others can't. He stands behind the small group, his wings unfurled completely. The moonlight casts a soft silvery light on his skin, so that he resembles a cemetery angel standing watch over the dead. He bends down to one young man who sits alone on the grass and touches him briefly on the neck, but after a moment, passes him by. The young man doesn't even notice, just keeps staring off into the distance.
Michel slips through the tree and I follow, keeping him in sight. He goes to a scraggly young man fastening a belt around his bicep, preparing to shoot up. A young man sits on the ground in front of him, a lighter and spoon in hand. Michel goes to both men, his hand resting on their necks for a fleeting moment. Neither man notices his touch, as if Michel were nothing more than a light breeze on their skin instead of some kind of vampire fallen angel measuring their souls.
In a clearing deeper in the trees, another man stands off to the side counting money, licking his thumb as he flips the bills. Michel stands behind him, his wings spread out wide, and lays his hand on the man's neck. He closes his eyes for a moment, his head tilting to the side as if deciding. Then, the man drops the money on the ground as if his muscles have all relaxed, his mouth opening, his neck lolling back. I knewthatfeeling. Michel pulls him deeper into the trees and I follow, amazed at my own mind as it creates this strange scenario.
When Michel releases his grip, the man blinks as if awakening from a dream. He glances down for his wad of bills then searches around in alarm when he notices it's missing.
"My money—" He sees me and frowns. "Did you take my fucking money?"
I back away and he lunges at me, grabbing me by the hair when I turn to run.
"Give me my fucking money, bitch, or I'll fucking cut you."
He pulls a knife out of his pocket and wrenches my neck to the side. My heart races as I feel the coolness of the blade against the skin over my jugular and I realize how close to death I am. I fall into fight mode, time shifting, and I have him down on the grass, the knife out of his hand and in my hand at his neck instead. Michel appears before us, his wings stretched out full.
"Let him go, Eve," Michel says and I release him. Time returns to normal and the man stands and tries to run, but Michel's too fast, faster than me, grabbing him by the neck, lifting him up as if he weighs nothing, his feet dangling. The man tries to grab hold of Michel's hands but can't budge them.
"You're paying tonight, Alan," Michel says, his voice a harsh whisper. "For everything wrong you've done."
"What? What have I done?"
"For the man under the loading dock," Michel says. "For the girl in the flop house. For all of them." He throws Alan down, and Alan sprawls on the ground, scrabbling in the dirt, trying to stand up and run. Michel stands over him, a menacing figure of black wings, red eyes and long fangs. He follows Alan, never letting him get more than a few feet away before tripping him, kicking his feet out from underneath him each time he manages to rise. Soon, Alan's weeping, tears and snot mingling on his face, his expression one of pure terror.
"Stop! Oh my God, please stop!"
"Your God's forsaken you, Alan, and sent me instead," Michel says, his voice dripping with contempt. "I'm your god now. Your judge, jury and executioner."
I stand a few feet away, covering my mouth, not wanting to watch but unable to take my eyes off the scene playing out in front of me. I will Michel to stop, determined to have this end peacefully with Michel merely drinking the man's blood to satiate his thirst. Michel picks up Alan from behind and twists his neck to the side. He looks at me, his face so dark, his once-beautiful features such a hideous mask of rage that I barely recognize him.
"If this is a dream, Eve, wake up. If this is a delusion, will me to show mercy."
"Please," I say, wanting him to stop. "Don't hurt him."
"Time to die," he says, and then his fangs rip into Alan's neck. Alan screams in pain, wrestling around, his arms flailing, his legs kicking helplessly as he tries to escape Michel's grasp.
"Please God" Alan gasps, "please God stop!"
I will Michel to stop but he doesn't and soon, Alan's spraying blood out of his mouth, choking on blood, frothing red out of his mouth, his windpipe severed so that blood fills his lungs. Then his efforts flag and he goes limp in Michel's arms, emitting a hideous croak as he dies. Finally, Michel rips his head off and drops his body to the ground like he's no more than a sack of coal. He throws the head towards me and it comes to rest next to my foot. He looks at me, his mouth a bloody gash, his long teeth glinting in the moonlight.
"This," he says and wipes his mouth. "This is real."
I stand frozen in place, hands covering my mouth to keep from crying out loud, tears blurring my vision. Alan's eyes are half-lidded in his severed head, and bloody froth bubbles cover his mouth.
"Why?" I glance up at Michel, but he doesn't respond. Instead, he brushes past me and I follow, not knowing what else to do. He stops at the edge of the grove of trees, just outside the streetlights that line the parking lot. I'm too horrified to even look at his face.