The Renfield Syndrome

“So, this is what we’ve reverted to,” I snapped, turning to glare at Carter. He’d returned to his seat and plopped his boots on the table. “Kidnapping people and holding them hostage. It’s good to see the human race has evolved.”

 

 

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Carter snapped right back, his boots creating an earsplitting boom when they connected loudly with the floor and he sat up. “If you need someone to blame, take a look at those leeches you nourish with blood. They are the ones who have caused the changes in the world, not us. We’re doing what we can to survive. It is our responsibility to show those bred in captivity what it’s like to be free.”

 

“Bred in captivity.” I grimaced in disgust. “You can’t be serious.”

 

“Where have you been the last forty years?” he asked, and I easily perceived his agitation. “Did you miss the aftereffects of the war? When we lost, they changed everything. You can’t believe what they tell you, not even your parents can vouch for it. Blood slaves are tainted—all of them. You’re nothing more than walking food. They couldn’t care less about you as an individual.”

 

I was curious by his statement, as well as completely confused. No better time than the present to get some answers. I wasn’t very adept at playing a dumbass—okay, I admit my douchebag level had increased recently—but with my lack of experience regarding current matters, I hoped I pulled it off.

 

“So let me get this straight,” I said slowly, thinking about what he’d said. “They won the war and made us into walking meals on wheels? Even our children?”

 

“Have you learned nothing during your captivity? You’re not a child, and you’re far too old to have been allowed to remain with your family.” His words conveyed his shock, surprise and doubt. “Why don’t you know these things?”

 

“Let’s just say,” I answered cautiously, shaking off the skeevies at the notion of being taken from my parents like a newly minted, six-week-old puppy, “the last time I was in the know, the world was slightly less messed up.”

 

“How much do you know?” He scrutinized me. His eyes were a lighter color now, the steely gray softening to what reminded me of a calm sky. His expression was less skeptical, as if he no longer viewed me as a threat.

 

“I know something called the Renfield Syndrome wiped us out and humans have resorted to whoring themselves out for vampire protection. Of course, you can’t always believe what you read in the newspaper.”

 

“Take a seat,” he instructed quietly, raking his long fingers through his dark black hair, “and I’ll tell you.”

 

I nodded and complied with the request. If I was stuck in this hellhole, at least I got cookies, milk and story time. I relaxed and settled in, waiting for Carter to explain.

 

“The first vampire came into the open in 2041. No one believed it at first, but after a few months the world found out it wasn’t a hoax and things started changing. The United States government, as well as the leaders across the globe, banded together. They called for a registration of all the vampires across the world. That was met with resistance. Most argued their right to privacy. Some of the older vamps refused to participate and a line was drawn.

 

“Negotiations were considered and a few vampires tried to pave the way to peace. Unfortunately, talks fell through. Ultimately, world leaders decided the registry was necessary to protect the human race. The vampires who didn’t submit to the request were deemed a danger to humanity. Within a few months, the fighting started. By 2044, the war was in full swing.” He dry-washed his hand across his shadowed face, sending hair falling across his forehead. “I need something stronger than tea.”

 

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