Blood of Gato

It was a late Saturday evening. In a room bathed in the soft light of a table lamp, Sam and William lounged on an old sofa, engrossed in a true horror movie marathon. The popcorn crackled merrily in the bowl, while a chilling soundtrack echoed from the speakers—another scene from a witch movie made the lamp tremble momentarily from the powerful bass.

"Hey, aren't you scared?" Sam asked lazily, tossing another handful of popcorn into her mouth. She cuddled a pillow, watching intently as a witch in tattered clothes whispered spells on the screen.

"Scared?" William replied, glancing at his sister with a smirk. "You know I sleep better after this stuff."

Suddenly, the witch on the screen looked directly into the camera, causing Sam to flinch and press against her brother. She scoffed, "Oh sure, and then you'll wake me up all night because you hear something scratching outside."

They both laughed, and William secretly glanced at his pager. His thoughts were already elsewhere—he remembered discussing his evening plans with Kemar that morning. "I wonder if Kemar embarrassed himself? Sarah is so strict about these dates…" He furrowed his brow, looking at the clock. "I should text him or call after the movie. Although maybe they're still at the concert…"

"You know, that witch reminds me of someone…" Sam suddenly said, nodding at the screen where the old witch cackled, waving her bony hand.

"Come on," he dismissed, but then squinted. "Wait, you're right! It's Aunt Susan! Seriously, it's a perfect match! The only difference is that Susan's malice is in her voice, not on her face," he laughed.

Sam burst out laughing, slapping her brother on the shoulder and almost spilling popcorn onto the floor. "You're such an idiot!" she said through her laughter. "Imagine Aunt Susan on a broomstick, chasing the neighbor's cats!"

William stretched out, pretending to fly on an invisible broom, which sent Sam into another fit of giggles. But their cheerful mood was abruptly interrupted by the sharp, deafening ring of the home phone.

They both jumped.

"Who could that be at this hour?" Sam frowned, turning toward the dark kitchen where the phone stood.

"Let's find out," William reluctantly got up from the sofa, stretching and feigning a yawn.

"If it's Dad, tell him his soup was delicious," Sam shouted lazily after him. "And ask when they're coming back."

"What if it's a maniac asking: What's your favorite horror movie?" William joked hoarsely, adopting a sinister voice and making a scary face. "Do you want to play a game?"

Sam rolled her eyes but smiled. "Better say it's your ex calling—she wants to brag about her new life without you!" she retorted.

William flashed her a middle finger, suppressing a laugh, and picked up the phone cheerfully: "William Farrow speaking. How can I help you?"

Despite the jokes, Sam's intuition was spot on. The voice on the other end was hoarse, accompanied by uncertain laughter and hiccups. Sophie.

"William, is that you?" The voice was veiled in alcohol and trembled oddly.

William instantly grew serious, his face turning stone-like. Sam watched him from the sofa, already alert at his expression.

"Yes, it's me, Sophie. What do you need?" he asked curtly, unconsciously wrapping the phone cord around his finger.

"I… I feel so bad, Will…" came the voice from the receiver. Somewhere in the distance, a door slammed, and Sophie sniffled. "I miss you… I'm sorry… I'm sorry," she seemed to choke on her words, her voice wavering and becoming almost unintelligible.

"Sophie, listen, I really have a lot to do right now," William tried to respond gently but firmly. "Let's talk tomorrow, okay?"

He was about to hang up when a scream erupted from the other end—piercing and hysterical: "I'm tired, William! I'm so tired! If you don't come see me… I'll just jump out the window, do you hear?! The window is already open! I…" There was a sound of creaking, as if someone was indeed fiddling with the frame.

William felt the blood drain from his face, and a chill ran down his spine. Clenching the phone, he forced himself to speak calmly, though irritation bubbled within him. "Sophie, you're drunk right now," he said evenly, trying to keep his temper in check. "Maybe you should call your friends or… at least Tyrone? He's always around."

Sophie erupted into hysterics. The phone was filled with sobs, muffled whimpers, and her words flowed into a painful torrent of grievances: "I'm not needed by anyone! No one, do you understand? They all think I'm…" She paused, her sobs growing louder, "…a whore. They didn't care, those bastards… Only you, William, you were different. You're a good person, right? You won't abandon me? Please help me, talk to me… Come over, I'm begging you…" Her voice softened, almost purring, as if she were trying to lull him.

William closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. A biting thought flashed through his mind: "At least you know who you are"—but he swallowed his resentment. Instead, he exhaled and tried to be firmer. "I don't think so," he said coldly, weary and devoid of sympathy.

In response, there was a dull noise on the line, followed by the sound of the window slamming shut. A gust of wind reached William, mingling with the sounds of the night streets—passing cars, distant shouts. Sophie was desperately trying to prove she wasn't joking.

"Fine," he gritted through his teeth, feeling anger and helplessness choke him from the inside. "I'll come over. Just close your damn window and, listen, sit still for at least an hour! I'm serious, don't do anything stupid."

Silence fell on the line, and suddenly Sophie's voice came through unexpectedly soft, almost happy: "Okay, William. I'll wait for you,"—and the connection dropped.

He slammed the receiver down with such force that it nearly slipped from the base. For several seconds, he stood there, forehead pressed against his palm, holding back a scream. Inside, everything churned—anger, fatigue, pity, irritation. "What a little brat, playing on my nerves," flashed through his mind. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

"Sam!" he called out loudly, turning toward the living room.

His sister, still sitting on the sofa, turned to him without taking her eyes off the screen. "I need to step out… meet someone. Can you stay here alone for a couple of hours?" he asked, pulling on his jacket and checking his pockets for keys.

Sam glanced at her brother, noticing the tense expression on his face. She raised an eyebrow, but upon seeing the weary shadow on his features, just waved her hand. "Go on. If you're not back by midnight, I'll turn into a pumpkin and bite your ear off," she said with a smile, trying to lighten the mood, then returned to the movie.

"Got it," William muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

He hurriedly put on his shoes, kicking a stack of old magazines by the door in frustration, and dashed out into the night. The cold air jolted him, making him gasp for breath. All the way to the bus stop, he cursed under his breath, pondering how to handle Sophie's hysteria—and whether it was even worth the effort.

But as he walked down the dark street, a plan began to form in his mind about how to finally make her understand that his patience was not infinite…

******

As William approached the street where Sophie lived, he couldn't help but notice that it had become suspiciously crowded, at least when it came to uniformed people. Patrol cars were parked every half block, and police officers were bustling about, carefully observing passersby and conversing over their radios. A thick, uneasy atmosphere hung over the neighborhood, as if a storm was brewing. William involuntarily shivered and quickened his pace, trying not to meet the eyes of those in uniform.

"Stay calm," he told himself, feeling a chill run down his spine. "There's nothing to worry about. Just don't stand out. Don't do anything stupid."

He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, slumped his shoulders, and tried to adopt the demeanor of an ordinary young man hurrying home to his girlfriend. Although the word "girlfriend" only irritated him at the moment. But that was a concern for later. Right now, the main thing was not to attract attention.

Still, attention found him. Suddenly, a patrol car screeched to a halt beside him. Against his will, William's heart skipped a beat. A short siren blared, and the door opened.

"Hey, kid, come over here!"

He forced himself to smile, though it probably looked strained. Slowly, he raised his hands to chest level to show they were empty and stepped toward the officers.

"Good evening, officers. Did I do something wrong?"

Two officers got out of the car: one was broad-shouldered with a weary but attentive gaze, while the other was shorter with a buzz cut and a sharp stare. They exchanged glances, then the first stepped forward and nodded.

"No, nothing wrong. Just checking. What are you doing in our neighborhood at this hour?"

William shrugged, trying to appear as relaxed as possible. "I'm just visiting a girl. She lives in that building,"—he nodded toward the building across the street. "I lost track of time, but she asked me to come over."

At that moment, he nearly grimaced. "Am I out of my mind, calling that witch a girl again?" he almost mumbled but caught himself just in time.

The younger officer crossed the street and stood slightly to the side, sizing William up. "Name, address?"

"Sophie…"—he hesitated, rummaging through his memory. "Sophie, apartment 702… But the last name…"—he smiled sheepishly, scratching his head. "Honestly, I always forget last names; I have a problem with that. But if you want, I can take you there, and you can see for yourselves."

The officers exchanged another glance. It was clear their suspicion hadn't dissipated, but they didn't have enough cause to detain him. At that moment, a radio on one of their belts crackled, and a sharp voice came through: "Unit Five, suspicious activity reported at the intersection, backup needed!"

"Alright," the senior officer said, softening slightly. "Just be careful, kid. The streets aren't exactly safe right now. It's best not to be wandering around at night."

"Thanks, officers. I'll try to be more careful from now on."

The police didn't leave immediately; they stood waiting until he entered the building. William felt their gaze on the back of his neck. Only when the entrance door closed behind him did he let out a relieved breath.

"Well, well," he muttered as he climbed the stairs. The dim light from the bulb barely illuminated the peeling walls, and somewhere on the second floor, music could be heard.

William grimaced; the air was thick with the smell of wet dog and something equally unpleasant. "What a dump," he muttered quietly, covering his nose with his sleeve. "Who in their right mind keeps pets here?"

He paused on the landing, listening; footsteps were coming from below. Probably someone returning home or just unable to sleep.

"Thanks, Sophie," he hissed angrily, "for making me play the good Samaritan again. You got drunk, as usual, and now I have to save you from yet another binge… or, heaven forbid, from myself."

He remembered her calling him an hour ago. "If you threaten to take your life again," he grumbled under his breath, "I'll throw you off the balcony myself."

He stopped, leaned against the wall, and nervously chuckled as he mimicked himself, adopting a strict German accent like a teacher: "You are valking on very thin ice, young man! Gut, gut, but be careful…"

He shook his head and moved on toward apartment 702, where faint, indistinct sounds were already audible through the thin wall.

******

He knocked, trying to hide his irritation. "Sophie, it's me, William! Open up, don't drag this out!"

In response, there was only a heavy silence. He pressed his ear to the door but heard no footsteps or movement. His heart sank uncomfortably. He knocked louder, now with anxiety creeping into his voice: "Sophie! Hey! Open up, are you even there? Respond!"

The silence grew increasingly ominous. His thoughts spiraled toward the worst-case scenario. "Could that fool have really jumped? Not this..." flashed through his mind. He frantically shook the doorknob, but it was locked.

"Sophie, if you don't open up, I'll kick this door down! Do you hear me?!" he shouted, genuine nerves starting to set in. At that moment, he heard something from behind the door: muffled curses, shuffling steps, someone tripping over the threshold. The lock clicked. William took a step back, ready for anything.

The door swung open, revealing Tyrone—the very Tyrone, star of the university football team, the object of everyone's sighs and envy. He wore only a wrinkled t-shirt and shorts with the logo of a sports club. His skin glistened with sweat, his hair was tousled, and a smell of sex and cheap deodorant wafted from the slightly open apartment.

Tyrone gave William an appraising look and, smirking, said, "Oh, look who it is! Mr. Nerdy Bookworm in his pink underwear of self-doubt! What brings you here, buddy?"

William felt a surge of anger but maintained his calm facade. He forced a light smirk. "Hey, Tyrone. Glad to see you're not wasting any time. If you're busy, I won't interrupt,"—he gestured with his thumb behind him, as if he were about to leave.

From inside, Sophie's voice came through, raspy and irritated: "Tyrone, who's there? Is it your friends again?"

Tyrone turned, chuckling, "No, it's your nerdy prince with the books. Looks like he's come to give you a nice evening!"

"Tell him to get lost!" Sophie shouted, her voice a mix of anger and indifference.

Tyrone, still smirking, turned back to William, shamelessly scratching his stomach and extending his hand for a high five: "We're busy here, got it? If you want to be helpful—go buy us something to drink. If you bring it back, maybe I'll let you enlighten us with your wisdom. A favor for a favor, you get it?"

At that moment, the beast inside William stirred. He could already envision sinking his claws into Tyrone's smug face, blood splattering on the walls, Sophie screaming as she jumped on him... But he held back, forcing a strained smile, and, looking Tyrone straight in the eye, slowly took the offered bill.

"Thanks for the offer, Tyrone, but I have more important news. You see, Sophie's test results just came in. They're quite something... A couple of STDs. I was just about to tell her. But since you're here, why don't you break the news to her yourself, champ?"

He gave the football player a friendly pat on the shoulder and stepped toward the stairs.

The jock's reaction was priceless; his smirk faded, his eyes widened, and fear and anger flickered across his face, as if he had just realized he'd been sitting on a cactus this whole time. He abruptly turned and shouted into the apartment, "Sophie! Why didn't you tell me about this?!"

"What do you want?!" came an irritated shout from inside.

"Are you trying to set me up?! Are you out of your mind?!"

Unable to contain himself, William burst out laughing and nearly doubled over. He descended the stairs, and behind him, the shouting, screaming, and crashing of dishes continued for quite some time. Somewhere on the second floor, a head poked out from a door: "Hey, keep it down! People are trying to sleep!"

"Idiots," William exhaled through his laughter, wiping away tears. He jumped down two steps at once, feeling the tension of the last few hours melt away.

William didn't have time to savor that brief moment of relief. Suddenly, out of nowhere, someone delivered a crushing blow to his back. Something inside him cracked, sparks danced before his eyes, and he lost his balance, tumbling down the stairs and crashing his shoulder against the cold concrete wall. A muffled gasp of pain escaped his lips, and a sharp arrow of agony shot through his body.

"Damn, what the hell?!" William rasped, assessing his bruised back. "My... back... ow, damn it..." He squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth, but despite the pain, he tried to remain alert. Who could have delivered such a powerful blow? Tyrone? No, he would have heard the footsteps, and that wasn't his style. So it had to be someone else... someone entirely different.

As he attempted to get up, he turned around and froze. A figure in a black sweater loomed before him, its face obscured by a thick fabric mask, from which two angry yellow dots glared at William—eyes blazing with fury and some twisted excitement.

"I found you!" the masked psycho exclaimed with triumphant glee, menacingly twirling a rusty crowbar in his hands.

"What are you talking about?" William attempted to feign confusion and helplessness, even as the pain began to subside. He raised an eyebrow, mentally weighing his options. "Damn, this guy is really strong. Could he have hit me with that crowbar? I thought it was a kick... But... who the hell is this?"

Before he could finish his thought, the stranger joyfully continued, keeping his burning gaze fixed on William: "I was starting to lose hope of finding you, but still…" The psycho took a deep breath, as if he were a dog sniffing the air. "I've been watching this place. Your scent is strongest here. I could smell it even through this stinking hallway!"

William nearly grimaced; he could detect the wretched, dog-like odor emanating from the psycho. "Well, who's complaining about smells here..." he thought grimly, covering his nose with his hand.

Suddenly, a thought clicked in his mind: "Wait... He's been looking for me? Could he be Heart-Eater?"

"Hey, listen," he tried to retreat, pressing against the wall, "you've got me confused with someone else. I've never been here before."

The maniac jerked his whole body, as if shaking with rage and excitement at the same time. "Confused?" Madness and pleasure mixed in his voice. "I've hunted people like you for years! A pathetic imitator—you think I wouldn't recognize my prey? I can feel your sins; they drag you down like stones around your neck! And your heart, so heavy. Don't lie to me!" He swung the crowbar against the wall with force, sending chunks of plaster flying in all directions.

The maniac stepped closer, his breathing becoming rapid, the crowbar trembling in his hands from excitement.

William backed up, sliding his back along the wall, and forced a laugh, trying to buy time. "Maybe I just have high cholesterol—that's why... my heart feels heavy," he mumbled, but at that moment, his claws began to break through the skin on his hands, his fingers slowly elongating and sharpening. Fury rose within him.

The maniac lunged forward first. The crowbar whistled just inches from William's head; he barely managed to jerk back, feeling the rush of air at his ear. In response, he thrust his clawed hand forward, aiming directly for the maniac's throat. The psycho recoiled sharply, too quickly for an ordinary person. The tips of William's claws grazed the maniac's shoulder, leaving a deep, bleeding wound.

"He dodged?" William hissed, slightly surprised and preparing for the next attack. This time, he intended to kill him with one blow.

The maniac lunged forward again, and in the next moment, his cold, steel-like hands, like traps, closed around William's wrists. Their gazes locked; in the maniac's yellow, demonic eyes, William's own cat-like, glowing amber eyes were reflected. In that instant, time seemed to stop.