‘I asked you to sit back’.

 

I was at the end of my shift. Tired, clockwatching, the white collar of my overcoat rasping against the unshaven skin on my neck. I’d stayed up, unwisely, smoking the best part of the twenty-bag through the night, sniggering at the shopping channel through the aromatic fog.

 

      ‘It’s not easy, you know? Waiting 48 hours is a joke’

 

      ‘I don’t make those decisions’ I replied. ‘Sit back and enjoy. Put your hands in the straps’

 

      The farmer rolled his eyes and sat forcefully back. The reclining chair wobbled on its axis. I leaned forward, ensuring the leather straps over his wrists were tightened as I threaded the metal loop. I made sure there’d be no movement and picked the bag from the cooler, puncturing it, drawing the contents slowly into the cylinder, keeping an eye out for air bubbles.

     

‘Get a move on. I’m at the edge’ the boy insisted.

 

      ‘You’ve another three or four hours’ I replied, flicking the syringe.

 

      ‘It’s not an exact science. Hurry up’

 

      I could see his tendons as they tensed. His fists gripped the arms of the chair.

 

‘The more you talk to me, the more you hold me up’ I replied.

 

I unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt and lined the syringe up with the open wound, which was bottle-necked by a clinical plastic valve leading directly to the atrium within his chest.

 

‘Now. Brace yourself’ I said, lining up the needle with the entrance. ‘Julian’s your name, isn’t it?’

 

He nodded.

 

‘If you go for me, Julian, I’m obliged by law to inform you that I won’t hesitate in killing you’. I nodded at the rifle on the wall, encased in protective Perspex.

 

Julian Lewis didn’t say a word in response, being so used to the procedure that the threat was rendered meaninglessly prosaic. His eyes anticipated the onset of the fluid into his system and he glared at the syringe as though willing it to be totally implanted in the gap between his ribs.

 

As the plunger flushed, Lewis gasped. His eyes rolled in their sockets, all the way to the back. The pink-white threads that held them in place were exposed. His gasps turned into rasping, spluttering laughter and a fine spray of blood issued like cat-spit from between his teeth. After his undulating neck rocked his head back and forth, his Adam’s apple vibrating with pleasure, he collapsed back into the seat, snoring lightly despite his eyes being wide open, his irises subsumed by the black of his expanded pupils. He murmured softly as if drunk and sleep-talking.

 

I took Julian Lewis’s file and filled in the forms, ticking three or four boxes as standard and signing my name, confirming it had all gone without any hitches. This was my third of the night and all of them had gone without incident. I noticed, as I signed, that I could never find the right signature for my own name. No matter whether I placed serifs in unusual spots or replaced bulbous lettering with finely dashed hand-strokes, it never seemed to represent me. I squinted at the ink as it dried.

 

When I turned back to Julian Lewis, he was coming back around. Sleepy-eyed and grinning, there was no trace of the awkward patient who’d occupied the seat a few minutes ago. His expression suggested post-coital fulfilment.

 

‘I’m ready to go. Unbuckle me’. He had come around and was smiling.

 

‘Hold on, Julian. Let me tidy up’

 

I removed a wet-wipe from its pack and smudged the specks of drying blood on Julian’s chin, noticing that the point of a protruding canine overlapped his lower lip. Slowly and purposefully, I undid the straps. Lewis stood up immediately, brimming with vim.

 

‘Have a good night’ I called after him.

     

He leapt out of the door without reciprocating my farewell, chuckling as the door slammed behind him. I checked my records to see if this particular boy was in employment. I always checked.

 

‘Petrol station attendant’ I read to myself, having located his professional status. It must have been his night off. I rubbed my eyes and started the process of tidying up.

 

 

      There were still two hours of night left. I prayed Con hadn’t had an early night, as I wanted to stock up on provisions now that I’d been paid and had the funds. His mobile wasn’t responding to my call as I tried his line, so I decided it was worth risking going to his place, despite time being short. My usual supplier was out of town, or arrested. He had vanished, anyway.

 

The night shift I’d just worked was the first I would have to endure in a long line coming up over the next month. One month on daytime clerical administration in the office was always succeeded by one month of hands-on patient care. Despite the obvious dangers, the patients I worked with were all reasonable people. Not the most enjoyable individuals to administer medication to, but all with a dark sense of humour, clearly evolved from their situation.

 

‘Con?’

 

I was at his intercom for the second day in a row, aware that he might consider me a pestering annoyance.

 

‘Peter? Again?’ he sounded surprised rather than hindered.

 

‘Yeah. It’s me’

 

‘Come on up’

 

The buzzer clicked into action again and I walked up to his flat where the door was carelessly left wide open. The bathroom door was also flung open, the girl’s corpse now removed but the residue of her lifeblood still staining the grubby white tub.

 

Con was at his seat by the computer, headphones around his neck.

 

‘What happened to the girl?’ I asked.

 

‘All gone. Finished’ he replied, clicking his mouse and staring at the monitor. ‘What are you after this time?’

 

‘An ounce. So I don’t have to keep bothering you’ I answered, trying to make light of my repeated presence in his apartment.

 

‘It’s never a bother. It’s good to see you again’

 

‘Same goes’ I lied.

 

‘You’re lucky you came now. I was about to sell a half to the guy in the flat below. But I suppose you can have the ounce. He’ll have to wait’

 

‘Thanks, Con. I appreciate it’

 

I left six twenty-pound notes on the coffee table and sat on the arm of the settee as he pulled me an ounce from the sack.

 

‘You eaten recently?’ I asked, suspicious again. He seemed unusually sedate. Almost morbidly so.

 

‘I’m pretty hungry. But don’t worry. Self control’ he pointed to his temple.

 

‘So what happened to the girl?’

 

He looked up and pointed gently at the ceiling. I concluded that the girl was in the attic.

 

‘I see’

 

Con giggled and smoothed his hair. ‘Cup of tea?’ he asked.

 

‘I can’t really stick around. Besides, it’s morning soon’

 

Con frowned. ‘Yeah. I should be turning in’ He looked at his watch.

 

I thought about the blonde girl- the child.

 

‘You really don’t need to do it, you realise?’

 

Immediately, I felt as though I should’ve left the subject alone.

 

‘Do what, Peter?’

 

He knew exactly what I was talking about.

 

‘Bleed them’

 

He looked me up and down, then to the side, guiltily.

 

‘Oh. That’ he replied.

 

‘We have enough blood at the bank. You’re welcome to some’

 

‘I wish it were that simple’ he said, shaking his head, smiling now. He was looking at my neck instead of into my eyes. ‘What would they put as my line of work?’

 

‘Unemployed?’

 

He laughed. ‘I’m not signing on. For the same reason I’m not registered with the blood bank’. He looked out of the window, checking for a hint of dawn. ‘They’d catch me out, then kill me’

 

‘If they find out what’s going on in your bathroom, they’ll kill you’

 

‘But they won’t find out’ he replied, looking concerned. ‘Unless you’re threatening me?’

 

I put my hands up. ‘I’m not threatening you’

 

I put the ounce in my pocket and fastened the buttons on my overcoat.

 

‘I can help you’ I continued. ‘If you want help. My number should be in your phone. Give me a call if you need me to get you some food. Maybe we can help each other out’. I walked to the door.

 

‘Are you suggesting an ongoing deal?’

 

‘I couldn’t answer that’. Con cocked his head to the side. ‘If I happened to turn up at your place with a freshly siphoned bag, we could see what you might be able to do for me’

 

Con rubbed the back of his neck and smiled again. Neck pains were a sign of nutritional deficit. They taught me that at work. Never trust a farmer with neck pains.

 

I said goodbye, leaving him with the thought and leaving without closing the door behind me.