Bathory Blood

Dr. Franks

"Please, Dr. Franks, I won't tell nobody," came the weak, drained voice of Tommy, the nineteen-year-old boy Dr. Franks had just buggered. Upon hearing it, Dr. Franks, naked and covered in Tommy's blood and bodily fluids, froze. He had been about to take another dose of the vampire blood, but there was something in Tommy's tone that made him falter. Something that made him think.

"Do you know me, boy?" Franks had doled out unimaginable punishment to the young man, who he had beaten, tortured, and then brutally sodomized. Tommy had been handsome initially but now looked just looked like a naked, bloody mess topped with a thick crop of black hair. He was strapped over a table explicitly designed for buggery, and he had his head turned as much as he could in Franks' direction. Tommy knew that this was his only chance. Up until that point, Dr. Franks' eyes had been solid black discs lacking any compassion or mercy whatsoever.

"You helped my mom years ago. I was just a boy." Once Tommy had finished, Franks had a memory of an Irish woman with a cute young boy. She'd had a nerve problem and couldn't afford the extortionate fees for her medication, so he'd taken her on as a charitable case. "I remember what you did before, and I never told nobody." Franks turned on him, the memories returning in an instant. Franks had abused Tommy before, back when his mom was sick. Under the guise of helping his mother, Franks had done it all to get to Tommy.

Franks turned to look at the blue blood syringe on the table, knowing that he needed to take more. His conscience was returning, and nobody felt guilt like Franks did. There were many times he had cried himself to sleep at night and even contemplated suicide. So, Franks knew he needed to inject the blood. If he did, then his conscience wouldn't be around, and he'd finish Tommy without any more thought.

For Tommy, it was pure survival. The likelihood was that he wouldn't tell anyone anyway as who would believe a homeless bum? Like many others, Tommy had been lured with the promise of easy money and possible escape from life on the streets. He'd been there since his mother died a few years prior. He'd never told anyone what Dr. Franks had done to him when he was nine years old, not a soul, not even his best friend. He'd done that for his mom. Tommy knew what Dr. Franks wanted; even at nine years old, Tommy understood things like that. Dr. Franks could help his mom, and he could help Dr. Franks. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours.

"Tommy," Franks whispered as his name returned.

"Yes," Tommy's eyes welled up with tears. "I never told anyone, Dr. Franks, and I won't now."

"I can't, Tommy," Franks confided with a whisper and then struggled to make himself heard over Tommy's woeful, prolonged whine. "These people are... you don't understand."

"I'll be yours whenever you want me," Tommy begged, "I'll do whatever you want, whenever you want. Just please get me out of here, Dr. Franks. You're a good man, I know it."

"No, I'm not a good man. Look what I have done to you."

"That wasn't you; it was the drug." Tommy's voice became more desperate as Franks moved to the table and picked up the syringe. The blue blood inside looked almost purple beneath the glow from LED strips bordering the room. "Please, Dr. Franks, don't do this." Franks faced Tommy and sighed. However true that Franks would have loved an attractive guy like Tommy to visit every now and then, he just wouldn't be able to cope with all the generated guilt. It would be far better for Franks if he just got it all over with now. Guilt, Franks concluded, was far easier to deal with when there wasn't anybody around to tell on you. Guilt with the possibility that you could get found out was far worse.

"I'm sorry, Tommy."

Tommy sobbed as Franks tapped his arm to bring up a vein and injected himself with the blood. The blood took effect almost immediately, and where there was color in Franks' eyes, now there were just black discs that covered the irises completely.

"There," grinned Franks and then laughed demonically, "That's much better." Tommy pulled himself together with a few deep breaths. All he could hope for now was that Franks would kill him swiftly. "I'm going to really hurt you, Tommy." He couldn't help it, Tommy cried out in anguish, for he knew that there was now no hope.

Minerva watched Tommy's brutal end on one of the security monitors as Lucius stood behind, waiting for her to come out of her trance.

"Bring the doctor to me," Minerva said eventually, startling him.

"It must be an inside job," Lucius stated, "Please tell me you see that?"

"Don't take me for a fool, Lucius. Of course, I know that."

"You think the doctor is involved?"

"What?" Minerva laughed at that and met Lucius' eye. "Just bring him to me."

"And then what?"

"Then, my dear boy, I would like you to pay a visit to Mike."

"I don't think..."

"And that is best for you, dear boy. Don't think, just do." Minerva watched Lucius swallow the hurt she'd delivered with venom. She could tell that he hated playing second fiddle to her and wanted it all for himself. It was such a pity he was so poorly educated on the subject. He knew so much, yet so little, and he had no desire to learn. Minerva had tried to teach him. And Anna, well, Anna was Anna. For her own good, she was better off out of the picture.

"And what would be the purpose of my visit?"

"To cajole, Lucius. I don't for one second believe that Mike was involved. At least, not wittingly. Just find out what you can without hurting him. Be his friend; he always liked you."