The Blood Paladin

The Blood Paladin

by Ella Draven

“Just one more, Cherry.”

“Anything you like, Dee,” Cherry responded in her raspy voice, and poured him a Jack and Coke.  Damien’s position was situated next to the corridor that led to the bathrooms, while blocking the way for a stray customer to wander behind the bar.   He could mind the bar when Cherry was gone, and keep an eye on bathroom traffic. 

The night was shaping up to be a bustling Thursday.  Cherry could hardly keep up with all the rough-neck Chevron employees who patroned after their shifts.  Not far behind were the secretaries who worked the high-rise buildings.  Every so often, Damien would see the rare ball-busting business woman leave with a roughneck.  He usually avoided such a crowd, but it was all part of the job he did for Cherry, who never minded the rowdy company and enthusiasm to spend their fat paychecks. 

The drunken chorus of laughing was violently interrupted by a loud bang, followed by the screech of metal scraping the tiled floor. One of the stools had fallen over at the bar, followed by a roar of laughter from two roughnecks sitting in a dark corner.  The noise brought Damien out of the trance of watching a basketball game.  He’d been quietly observing a lady in a red suit and black heels. She’d been drinking all night with the two roughnecks in the corner. Obviously intoxicated, she stood up and stumbled while picking up the barstool. Wow, she’s hammered, Damien thought.

The women who frequented the bar mostly looked alike, but this one had pallid skin and scarlet lips that seemed unusually bright in the blue lighting of the neon beer sign. She was young with apparent poor judgment.  Damien witnessed as the wolves circled the weak lamb sitting lop-sided on her barstool.  As much as he despised these loose secretaries, he still did his best to keep them safe from being harmed by the overly-anxious bastard. 

Cherry rang her cowbell, signaling the last call.  Damien walked the bar area, announcing closing time.  He kept vigil on the lady, making sure she didn’t leave, while making mental notes on what the men looked like-- both had dirty Chevron work shirts; one was  a fat blonde with a sharp cleft chin, the other a fat Latino man with dark skin, receding salt-and-pepper hair, and streaks of  silver in his goatee. They shared the stench of beer and refinery grime. The lady, unable to keep her balance, fell over again. Damien affronted the trio.

“Fellas, I think the lady has had enough, so we’re going to call her a cab.”  She gave him a chilly look when Damien tried to help her stand up on her own. She leaned into him, putting her face in his neck and drawing a deep gasp that chilled his spine. He was unnerved by this, and by how cold her skin was to the touch. “Miss, can I see some ID, or can you call someone to get you home?”

“NO!” the lady shouted out, and her eyes were furiously fixed in Damien’s, who was startled by her sudden fierceness. He looked into her eyes, and felt the chill again.

She calmed as quickly as she’d burst. “It’s puurrrfectlee fine, zhee? Theezhe are my good, good friendzh,” she slurred, then cackled hysterically. 

The blonde man smirked and replied, “We’re old friends.  She’s in good hands with us, and we’ll take good care of her, won’t we Carlos?”

“Oh yeah, good care,” Carlos replied with his own sinister grin.

The lady slurred, “Zhee? We, are all good here. Now, run along and leave us alone.”

“The bar is closed. You have to leave,” Damien huffily replied.  These girls will always be whores, no matter what I do to save them.

“Let’s go boys,” the lady slurred. “Let’s continue this party somewhere else, where we won’t be… distuuurbed.” She stumbled out of the bar and cackled all the way out the door.

Damien spent the next hour quietly cleaning and straightening up the bar, while Cherry counted the till.  She could see he was still ruffled by the lady; so she tried to console Damien as they locked up for the night.

“Don’t worry about it. She’s a grown woman. You can’t go around thinking you can save everyone, doll.  Some people just don’t want to be saved.”

After a short walk, Damian arrived at the motel where he lived and took his key from the manager.  He dragged his tired feet up to the second floor.  As he fumbled with the key, his eyes caught the curtain ruffling. Nobody could be in my room—only the manager has keys. He took one step inside his room, switched on the light, and gagged at the sight.

The walls were dripping with fresh blood, with chunks of flesh and intestinal tracts splattered on the walls. Human hands and feet were in small piles on both night stands, the palms and soles were facing up and gnawed away to the bones.  The nails had been pulled out and scattered around the bed, like murderous peanut shells to adorn a night of festive gorging. The mattress was ripped in the middle and held a two human torsos, rib cages broken and ripped open, and deep scratch marks on the skin around the bones.  Blood dripped from the ceiling over the bed, and onto his jacket.

Something was feasting in my room.

 He drew his breath suddenly when he heard a small grunt, followed by faint but heavy breathing.  He slowly moved towards the closet, where limbs were on hangers, bent at the joints, gnawed through to the skin and sinew. The coppery stench of the coagulating blood burned Damien’s nostrils as he struggled to contain his nauseous heave.  He could still hear the labored grunting, and he inched toward the bathroom door.  He pushed it open to find an old elven hag masticating on a kidney. She was wearing a red suit that hung from her haggard frame, and high heels that were gigantic on her bony chicken-feet. Her face no longer was that of a young lady, but of a demonized child.  Her skin had turned ashy and grayish-blue, and her hands had become sharp, black claws. She began to hiss at Damien, and leapt out at his neck.  Damien struggled, but she sunk her claws into the juicy vein. He cried out when her teeth clamped down on his neck, and in the burst of pained adrenaline he ripped her off. She came with a piece of his neck skin in her mouth, blood dripping from her jagged jaws. 

The demon writhed in Damien’s grasp as he wrestled her to the ground and shoved his arm against her neck to strangle her. He looked into her eyes and felt the same chill as he had back in the bar.  He weakened as the blood gushed out, but he grabbed her head with both hands and jerked them as forcefully as he could until he heard the crack of her snapped neck. The demon crumbled to the floor, then burst into a bluish flame that quickly burned down to ash. Damien slumped down as well, feeling his head become light and foggy. 

Damien looked around to find something to stop the bleeding until he saw a pile of rumpled, bloody clothes on the floor next to the bed. He crawled over and picked up one of the shirts, which had a name embroidered above the pocket: Carlos.   As he held it to his neck, trying to stop the bleeding, he saw a tuft of blonde hair under the bed. He leaned down and saw the bloodshot eyes of the roughnecks, staring back at him.  He gasped and rolled away from the bed.  The guys from the bar, Damien thought as he drifted off.

Damien was awaked by pounding from the door. He looked around the room. Why is everything so clean?  He looked at his reflection in the mirror as he got up and realized he was no longer bleeding—the bite was completely gone.

“Uh, Can I help you, Officer?”

“Son, we’ve been receiving reports of some kind of disturbance coming from your room. Is there something wrong with you?” the belligerent old cop replied.

“Uh…Yea, I’m fine. I just uh, I had a rough night.”

“Alright well, if you got some aggression to work out, I recommend the 24-hour gym down the street.”

Damien acknowledged his advice and shut the door. He touched his neck and felt nothing. He looked into the dresser mirror again, and spotted the dirty Chevron shirts on the floor. He spun around and dove for the floor next to the bed. He grabbed the shirt, and saw the name Carlos above the blood-stained pocket. His eyes darted up at his reflection in the mirror and howled wildly at the image of the smiling demon with the Chevron shirt in his hands.