Her Perilous Wolf, Julie Steimle [howl and other poems TXT] 📗

well, to get the bottom of it—drink blood.”

Doug stared.

“Like a vampire,” Troy added, to be explicit.

Doug blinked at him, then pulled back. “What?”

“I have vampirism,” Troy explained—which was absurd.

Doug leaned further back, eyes wider on him—specifically on Troy’s mouth, which definitely had sharp canines. He laughed in disbelief, regardless of the entire persona before him being utterly like a vampire. It was just not possible.

“I know it sounds nuts,” Troy explained, “but I don’t want to lie to you.”

“Vampirism?” Doug now stared wanly at him. This was silly.

Sighing, Troy nodded. “It’s not what the movies say it is. You can’t catch this condition from three bites, or even multiple bites. That’s not how it works. But a vampire—”

“Are you saying there really are vampires?” Doug was ready to go. There was no reason he needed to entertain this absurd delusion, regardless of this man’s toxic blood condition. It probably made him mentally unstable. The only thing stopping him was the fact that Troy did indeed have this impossibly toxic and parasitic blood, and he needed a cure.

Rolling his eyes, Troy explained, “Look. Vampirism—that is the blood drinking and stuff—is a lifestyle choice, mostly. I know you think I am nuts. Fine. Think it. But there are—hand to God—out there in the world, these folk who genuinely drink blood of other humans as their food source. And they have my blood condition. And it is those people whom I got it from.”

“You mean adrenochrome?” Doug chuckled, wondering if he ought to go now. This was crazy.

Troy shook his head darkly. “No, though that practice is repugnant too. What I mean is… oh, never mind. You’re not going to believe it. That is not what I want to solve, anyway. What I want to solve is the bite.”

“The bite.” Doug stared at him dryly.

Sighing, Troy pulled down the collar of his shirt, exposing his neck where he had a set of scars which looked like genuine vampire bites, well-healed. “Touch them. Go ahead. See if they are fake.”

Stepping cautiously closer, Doug gently touched the scars. Then he examined them closer. They were real bites from real human teeth. He knew they were real, because similar (though larger) scars were on his daughter’s arm from a cougar bite—still healing. These were human-sized, yet with sharp canines.

“I was bit as child,” Troy explained. “About twelve when it happened.”

Doug pulled back, staring. His son Skyler was twelve.

“It was done by my parents,” Troy explained. He shook his head. “Believe me, I didn’t believe in all this stuff either until it happened to me. Vampires are for movies. But my dad and mom had joined that… group, and they wanted to make me join too. They bit me, but I ran away.”

“And you became like this from that?” Doug was breathless.

Troy shook his head. “No. The bite did no such thing. But the wound did not heal until recently, which… takes more explaining. You see, back then the bite was constantly oozing. I always had to have a bandage on. I needed to change bandages regularly. I often dealt with light headedness, and I had to stay indoors at night as that is when they stalk around searching for victims. And no swimming for me or my blood would get into the water.”

Doug pawed at the teeth marks. They were healed, but real.

“Now, I’ve seen doctors upon doctors, and I am in contact with a doctor in this city who specializes in bites. But, my wound only healed until after the vampires caught up with me,” Troy said.

Shivers went down Doug’s arms. Vampires. They actually were real? He was starting to believe what Troy was saying. Troy was speaking about infection, not occult magic.

“They’re a kind of gang,” Troy explained, readjusting his collar so that it was straight, “called the Order of Blood.”

Doug stared him, wide-eyed now.

“I’ve been dodging them for years. Dodging my father and mother. That’s why I went to Gulinger. For my protection.” Troy shook his head. “When they caught up with me, it was just last year. I was still dealing with the bite, seeking out something to staunch the flow so I could heal—but all I found were temporary cures. I mean, I have a medical degree in this kind of pathology. But the Order of Blood caught up with me, and they forced that toxic blood down my throat. That’s how I got this condition.”

Doug drew in a breath. Randon had told him a version of this story, but this was more real. It was toxicology. Real life stuff.

“It burned all the way down,” Troy explained, “I tried to vomit it up but it was like hot tar, clinging to my throat. I thought I was going to die. I wanted to die. In many ways, I wish I did die. But I didn’t. Instead, my body changed with the blood. That wound finally healed, but now I am infected as a carrier.”

Breathless, Doug nearly whispered, “How… how come you did not end up with the worst case?”

Nodding, Troy drew in a breath, eying him with satisfaction that he was being believed, and exhaled before saying, “To get the worst case, you have to adopt the habit of drinking blood. It finishes the transformation. I have the craving, but I fight it daily—because I want to walk in the sunlight.”

“So…” Doug struggled to formulate his thoughts, “you’re saying this rare blood condition is actually a poison that you were forcefully infected with?”

Troy nodded. “Yes. And there is no cure that I can conceive of. I’ve tested all sorts of ways. They all end in death. If I try a transfusion, by blood and damaged cells converts that blood into the same toxic blood, like a virus. You’ve seen how the blood acts. I tried once… recently, after I gave you all those blood samples. You see, once you get the condition, your body does not renew blood cells. Something in your bones die as they are also changed. They cannot produce more red blood cells. And the blood cells you have, uh… don’t die. And when that conversion happens, it is torture. My body was in pain for hours after the transfusion. It was like undergoing the change all over again.”

Doug felt breathless. “Have you tried a full transfusion? Or a dialysis?”

Chuckling, Troy nodded. “I’ve considered it, but I think it would kill me. But anyway, it is the bite I am concerned about. I can’t save me, but I know people who have been bitten, their blood is healthy and so are they, but they have the eternal bleed. If I can help them, then it is all worth it. My research has led me to a dead end. I can seal the wound for a time for most people. Fresh comfrey leaves can do it. But I want a permeant cure. I need to heal the wound.”

“What do you mean, seal for a time?” Doug was confused. All of this sounded crazy.

Nodding, Troy said, “Right. Um. Another feature of the bite with the perpetual bleed is that, uh, for some reason, the close proximity to a real-total vampire—be it resonance or smell or something in the air, I don’t know—makes the wound open up again. So if a blood-drinking vampire is around, the bite starts to bleed—and they will most likely smell it and go after you. You basically are an eternal victim… or a vampire ‘water fountain’. I need to find a way to heal the wound so it won’t open up again.”

A wound that did not heal…. Doug knew very little about such things. What would prevent a wound to heal? Poor platelet count? Or was it in the tissues itself? Damages cells that refused to split and grow? It was like backwards cancer. Living, yet dead cells.

“And how would we do that?” Doug stared hard at him. “Where are we going to get samples to even test on?”

Troy raised a finger. “I said I have a doctor friend who studies bites. He has been getting flesh samples for me when he has been treating bite victims. I have those samples in my lab. I want you to see them. I’ve tried a garlic oil cure, but that actually inflames the wound. I’ve tried comfrey, but that is only temporary healing. It occurs to me that the wound itself is deep and to veins. The only recorded cure for this sort of bite is severe surgery—which is life endangering. And even those don’t always heal. The toxins in the cells spread. I need someone else to think of more options. I’ve been staring at it too long. I need someone with fresh ideas.”

“Who is this doctor?” Doug felt a little dizzy.

Nodding, Troy said, “Dr. William McAllister. He is the foremost expert on vampire bites.”

Doug stared. “You’re kidding me.”

Troy shook his head. “No. He wrote a book. I can give you a copy. Follow me.”

Doug did, following Troy straight to the closet. He opened the door where both of them stepped in. As Troy pushed aside a coat, with another one in Doug’s face, he noticed a security key pad on the far wall where Troy pressed his finger to a scanner, then put in a number code.

“We call this the Laslow Holifeld entrance.” Troy winked at him.

Doug got shivers, but a different kind. Was he flirting?

The door slid open, revealing a pristine, top-of-the-line laboratory.

On the far wall hung surveillance cameras showing several views of the apartment as well as the door outside and the one downstairs. No way would Troy be taken off guard while in here.

Walking to the refrigerator, opening it, where samples were labeled neatly in their dishes and test tubes, Troy pulled out two. He carried them to the counter. Two high tech microscopes were already there. He slid out the tray underneath one microscope, which was connected to a flat computer screen on the wall—displaying all the tiny cells in vivid clarity.

“See that?” Troy pointed to the warped, if not inflamed cells on the periphery which seemed to be coated in the pale pink parasitic red blood cells of the toxic blood. “Those are the damaged or infected cells. And those,” he pointed further out, “are the healthy ones. When I tried using garlic oil—the poison fled from the oil into the healthy cells, and wound expanded. So that’s a no-go.”

Doug imagined those parasitic cells had fled like microorganisms, sensing their impending doom. They almost seemed sentient.

“I even tried soaking the entire tissue with the oil,” Troy explained. “And the same thing happened before all the cells died. The wound won’t heal.”

“Have you tried other chemicals?” Doug murmured, wondering if there was much he could do. This was entirely new to him.

Troy nodded. “Hydrogen peroxide, various natural acids and the like. We’ve even used nurturing oils to absorb and nourish the bad cells. Mostly we got the same effect. I’ve even tried just excising the bad cells, but somehow the cut just widens the wound and—”

“Well, if we are dealing with ‘magic’ here,” Doug muttered with a sardonic chuckle, “why not use a silver knife?”

But Troy merely huffed. “Silver only affects werewolves.”

Doug laughed, sure Troy was being facetious. Clearly the guy felt mocked. “How about copper?”

 Rolling his eyes, Troy appeared inclined to put the samples away. However, he halted. “Or iron…”

“What?” Doug was not sure he was joking.

Nodding, Troy began to laugh. It was weary though. He gazed at Doug with the funniest smirk. “You know… maybe you are right. I am thinking too scientifically. I never considered changing our tools from stainless steel to something else.”

“I was joking,” Doug said in protest.

“I know.” Yet Troy went over to his other lab equipment. “However, let’s think in terms of chemistry. Metals react to acids in different ways. Some metals are extremely reactive, like iron and copper. They oxidize. But gold and silver are the least reactive, though silver tarnishes. What if I got a gold covered knife? It would be less reactive.”

“Or