Liora and I have been stuck in this damn tunnel for weeks. She's not desperate. She takes it all with a kind of resigned optimism, as if living down here were an opportunity to be free from the madness that comes with being a vampire: territorial fights, hierarchies, bloodlines, blood, power, envy, selfishness, ambition—the full package for a life without peace. Liora says:
"Come on, sir. We're safe here, and I think we'll stay that way for a long time. I don't think anyone's going to bother finishing this subway line. At least not for a few decades. You've told me how those human politicians are—worse than filthy rats. And speaking of which, the good thing is we'll never run out of rat blood to survive."
Survive! What the hell is this girl talking about? Survive! What a despicable word. I don't want to survive. I want to live. Live like a king. Live like an emperor. I want to become some kind of vampire god. Ah, fuck. I'm completely demoralized. I feel like those actresses from golden-age Hollywood must've felt when their popularity crashed and burned. The ones who were once the face of the big studios, poster girls, Oscar winners, and who, once the years had ravaged them—because time has no mercy—ended up playing second-rate roles in low-budget films that never even made it to theaters. Dirty movies, where they played sad side characters. Cheap horror flicks where a killer chops their heads off with a machete. TV movies where they got a couple of scenes as cranky old women everyone hates. Films so bad they didn't even have a script—just whatever the wannabe director came up with between takes. Survive! That's not for me, dammit. I refuse to become some washed-up actress everyone mocks. Survive! No. I don't want this. Goddamn it, I'm back in the hole. Back to being a piece of shit on a stick. Rats. Rats! I'm feeding on rats now. What would Du la Font think of me? What would he say? I know exactly what:
"You are a colossal disappointment, boy. I should've left you to rot in Hell. And believe me, that would've been an act of mercy. Because honestly, you might have fared better in Hell itself than in this wretched hole, gnawing on rats. You've defiled Agnes's blood—the blood that still runs through your veins. And if you push it, by extension, you've defiled mine as well. Because my blood runs through the veins of my sweet Agnes. That noble creature who, for reasons that escape me, has set her eyes on you. You, who are worth less than a South American politician. And that, my boy, is just a sophisticated way of saying you're worth nothing at all. Even for free, you'd be an expensive mistake. What an unforgivable error it was to place even a shred of hope in you. You've been defeated by a low-grade vampire. And to make matters worse—a German. Believe me, that doesn't help your case. And what happened to the great love of your life? Where is that Irene you used to rave about? Do you seriously believe someone could love—and worse, admire—something like you? And please, spare me the love you think this poor girl feels for you—this Liora. A creature so starved for affection she could fall for anyone who whispers something kind to her before dawn. Someone who tells her: 'Rest well, my dear. May you dream of the black angels of vampirism.' Pathetic. I should kill you. But doing so would grant you relief. And someone like you doesn't deserve relief. You deserve to remain. To crawl in your misery. To suffer the slow humiliation of days that never end. And now, please, stop thinking about me, you idiot. My name doesn't deserve to be dragged through the sewers of your vulgar little mind."
I'm sorry, Edmundo. I'm sorry! I'M SO FUCKING SORRY!
"What are you thinking about, sir?" Liora asks me.
"That this is all fucking bullshit, girl."
"It's not that bad, sir. I told you that..."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don't repeat that nonsense again."
"Are you hungry, sir?"
"God almighty. I could drain an entire high school in the Aragón neighborhood. One of the most exclusive areas back in Miraverde—my beloved Miraverde."
"Is Miraverde really that beautiful, sir?"
"Ah, Liora, that place is a paradise for a vampire."
Then it hits me: I've never told Liora I'm from the future. So I say:
"Go fetch some rats. Let's feed. And then I'll tell you a part of my story you haven't heard yet."
Liora, of course, knew nothing about time travel. And not that I know much myself. I just know that some vampires can do it—how, I have no clue.
What really fascinates Liora is hearing about my life as a human, growing up back in the good old '90s and the 2000s.
"You used to be a male prostitute, sir?"
"Yes, girl. I was a whore in La Concepción. A whore who slept with horrible people. People so pathetic they couldn't get laid without paying for it."
"Didn't it disgust you? Sleeping with those people?"
"Of course it did. But I needed the money. Same as now: I need to survive. That's why I feed on rats, even though I find it revolting. Something only despicable creatures would do. And don't take offense—I know you've been doing it for a long time."
"I don't like it either. Especially after tasting human blood. But what can we do? This is what it is, sir."
"Yeah. This is what it is. And what it is, is shit. You nailed it there."
"At least we're not alone."
"I don't know, girl. Maybe I would've solved it all by now, the old-fashioned, no-bullshit Kurt Cobain way."
"Who's that, sir?"
"An idiot who… never mind."
"Sir?"
"Yes?"
"Did you really love that Irene girl?"
"Yes."
"And did you feel the way I felt when I met you? Like maybe your luck was finally going to change? Like maybe you could be happy?"
"Yeah, sure. And then everything went to shit. Just like now. No—now's even worse. Much worse."
"Was Irene beautiful?"
"She was radiant. The sun would rise when that girl smiled. She was the best of the best. A beautiful killer. Wicked and sweet at the same time. Drop-dead sexy."
Liora sighs. She wishes I could see her the way I saw Irene. But I can't. She has to accept that. This is what it is. And then it hits me—something cruel: So much of life is just learning to settle for what is, instead of chasing what we want. And that thought? That thought pisses me off. So I inject myself with a little optimism. Groundless dreams. No pillars, no foundations, no support. I feel like I could change my whole world. Like I could be more than a vampire. The puppeteer of the cosmos. Someone who bends the universe to his will, who tweaks the rules of physics until everything goes his way. Someone who understands all the mysteries. An infinite being, with infinite knowledge. Something that never existed before. Something unheard of. A living anomaly. A god without a religion. A supreme being. And then, just like that, my dreams vanish. The same way they used to vanish when I was human. Every time I opened my eyes and saw the filth I lived in. An apartment in worse condition than Tyler Durden's house. Sharing a roof with two creatures whose blood I wouldn't have touched even at gunpoint: a butch communist with delusions of intellectual grandeur, and a street guitarist who dreamed of a Cuban-style revolution in Nueva Brisenia. Two meat-suits I wouldn't have sunk my fangs into back then. But now? Now, in this miserable situation I'm in, I'd drink them both dry without blinking.
Then, suddenly, I hear a sound. Liora hears it too. Voices.
"Sir… sir… sir," Liora whispers, trembling.
I pull her close to my body. And then I hear it—Tony's voice.
"Zico, Zico! Zico, Zico! I can smell you, you bastard. Tonight's my lucky night. Zico, Zico! Zico, Zico!"
For a moment, Tony reminds me of Luther in The Warriors, when that son of a bitch delivers his iconic line: "Warriors, come out to play-ay!" And yeah, I'd love for Tony to end up like Luther: beaten and screaming like a bitch. But let's be real—that's not going to happen.
Tony and his vampires are getting closer. I can hear them. There are a lot. Maybe fifty. Maybe more. I can't see them with my mind—that power is gone. I'm way too underfed. God. Liora and I are lost. I have no powers. No strength. I'm nothing. And we're going to die. Both of us.
Tony yells again:
"Oh Jesus Christ, Zico! You reek like reheated garbage. You and that little girl smell worse than my underwear and socks back in the trenches during the Great War!"
They're getting closer. Step by step. Human pace. I know they could be on me in a second. But no. Tony wants me to suffer. He wants me to squirm. He wants me to shake. He wants me to breathe fear while he approaches.
Liora grabs me tight. I push her away gently. I place my hands on her cheeks. She looks at me with an expression that says everything: "I'm really scared, sir." I try to speak to her mind. Nothing. I'm weak. A useless piece of shit. So I have to use my vocal cords. I say:
"I'm sorry, Liora. But I'm not going to let what happened with Irene happen again. It's been amazing getting to know you. I love you, little one. Not in the way you'd like, I know. But I love you. And I can't let you fall into the hands of these bastards. Do you understand me?"
"Sir…" she whispers, barely a breath.
"Look at me. Don't stop looking at me. It'll be quick."
"I love you, sir."
"Look at me, Liora. Don't look away."
Goddamn it. I have to rip her heart out. This is going to be brutal. I have to kill her. I have to do it now. I have no way out. This is what it is.