Night Owl

Now that I’ve opened the notebook, and am thinking the thoughts that I’m penning on paper, I feel insane. But my curiosity has overtaken me, and writing everything down like this is the only way I’ll be able to piece together what’s going on with him. I only have two bullets:

- Record what I see,

- And use that shit to find out what the heck is going on.

He was always one to indulge in mystery, but he had to admit, the most compelling aspect of this secret study was the opportunity for an increase in rank. If he explored this and reported his findings straight to the Dean, they’d open an investigation on his roommate. He’d get captured…questioned…or even taken to a facility.

The Python Project at the Robinson College of Engineering would finally acknowledge him as a worthy addition to their research group. But more importantly.

They’d kick Alex out of Pre-Semester Study. He’d be expelled (or at least forced to take an academic leave.) And one less person would be in his way, vying for valedictorian.

In a few days I’ll drop this if it gets boring or bears little fruit. But if I do nothing, I’ll regret never taking this chance.

Kelland closed the notebook and shoved it under a binder as his roommate burst through the door. He felt a sense of guilt, unsure of why he’d scrambled to hide the notebook in the first place. It wasn’t like he was…

Okay, so he was scheming against him. But not for a bad…

Okayyyy, soooo the merits of this hastily conjured plan technically…intrinsically failed to hold moral water. But ‘for his future’s sake’ was still an arguably noble reason. He stuffed his conscience deep into his mental and tried addressing his rival.

“Hey. Um…how was your day?”

The nerve was lost as quick as he’d managed to find it. Never-mind potentially incurring the wrath of a monster, why bother making light conversation with the human equivalent of a concrete cinder block?

His face flat and otherwise unresponsive, Alex punished him with silence, moving just as soundlessly as he removed his backpack and took his laptop to bed. Like clockwork.

The room wasn’t always this cold. Back in July, during the early student move-in period, they met in person for the first time and hit it off. Bonded over favorite shows and music and the mental anguish they'd undoubtedly be put through during these Advanced Pre-Semester courses. They saw each other.

And maybe he was being dramatic, but now, he couldn't see Alex at all.

Kelland turned back to his desk.

I’ve said hello to the specimen, making sure to—

Oh my God, he is not a specimen.

I said hi to Alex like I do most days, and he’s said nothing in response like he does all days. But my reason for this study is not as shallow as wanting to unfurl the personality of someone who suddenly wishes to keep to themselves. What I’m hoping to find is supernatural: a case of vampirism to be specific. I’m quite confident this is the case.

Alex Martin. 21. Junior. He may walk and talk normal enough, but he doesn’t smile. He doesn’t take morning classes. I’ve only seen him eat once. And most importantly, he doesn’t. Sleep. I suspect he doesn’t need it.

I don’t have proof—‘cause I’m not a crack who forgoes a good night’s rest for the “sake” of his studies—but I have it on good authority that Alex has not gone to sleep since 3 days ago. My hunches have never steered me wrong, so

He grumbled and scribbled out his last thoughts. Any hope this had to be an intellectual work, was gone.

I cannot prove that he hasn’t gone to sleep these past few days. But there are several things I’ve considered before coming to this conclusion.

His eyes: they’re a clear indication of many nights without sleep. Huge bags, dark rings, and a cold stillness in his pupil, like they haven’t seen anything for ages.

There’s a difference in his walk now that I believe can only be sniffed out by people close to him, like his roommate. In July, he walked with a clear purpose and direction. Liked to engage in conversations about his interests. He still never really talked to me, but he was more shy about it. It felt like he often wanted to strike up conversation, but always lacked the confidence. Now, he’s the complete opposite. Considering how it’s a scorching August, and we’re drowning in work, it may seem a stretch to say this is an indication of one’s otherworldliness, but believe me when I say, this is an unnatural fatigue. When I spot him on campus, he’s slinking and shuffling through the sidewalks, the halls. There’s a determination in his eye that looks like it belongs to a stranger’s, and even I hardly know what I mean by that. How can you walk with both purpose and dread simultaneously?

The question made Kelland take a moment to look at his roommate, try to really look at him, and hope for clarity. The truth was that even such a manner of demeanor wasn’t so far-fetched. Here at Brunner University, whispers of overworking students and driving them to the brink are faint, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.

Alex was hard at work, typing away at whatever paper his English major had demanded of him now; hunched over, texts strewn messily along his sheets, with an unopened water bottle far from his reach.

Kelland did feel bad for students like him on occassion. Hopefuls who helplessly churned out ‘A’s for a chance to gain international noteriety, only to find they’d completely burned themselves out before stepping foot on campus. It was difficult for students to slog forward the way the faculty wanted them to; not everyone can keep such a vice grip on motivation. The school has to weed out weaklings somehow.

And yet, the way his face vein protruded from his temple, spoke to Kelland.

“Hey,” Out before the words were even thought up. “Are you feeling okay?”

He stopped typing to glare, but Kelland held his gaze, refusing to be deterred. He had to at least say this.

“You seem tired lately.”

The stare softened. (Not to more understanding, like he’d hoped, but less murderous?) He closed his self-proclaimed field journal and sprang from his chair.

“I’m having tea. D’you want some?”

“He—I’m…fine.”

So he speaks after all. (Growls, if we’re being accurate.)

Alex coughed, a deep and scratchy croaking; it bounced against every corner of the room. Kelland thought of making a joke, accusing his roomie of plotting to get him sick, but decided to wait him out instead.

“…You don’t have to make me anything.” Soft-spoken. Like before.

“It’s whatever; I always make too much for myself.” And before Alex could protest again, he walked out the door with the electric kettle in hand.

Alex talked to him; he spoke! Albeit strangely. He didn’t know whether to chalk it up to sincere anxiety or…some skilled imitation.

He entered the bathroom and made a beeline for the sink. It wasn’t fair, judging him like this, pegging him as some monster. But his academic standing…! Ugh, his standing!

The most likely scenario is that he’s having a hard time and needs someone who cares about how his day was today.

Filling up the water to the line, he's in and out of the bathroom in not even three minutes. Waiting for him when he got back was Alex in the middle of the room, holding his temple.

“Let’s give it a few minutes.” Kelland plugged the kettle into the power strip and set it on an old cardboard. “I have green, black, and a lemony-ginger one.”

“Whatever one is fine.”

“Then we’re both having lemony-ginger.”

He took the packets out and set them aside. Now unsure if the conversation should continue, the two of them stood alone in silence, save for the slow heating of water.

“I’ll just get back to…my homework, then.”

Kelland tapped at his thighs awkwardly and walked over to grab the notebook—mortified that he’d left it open—and sat by the kettle on the carpet. Alex followed suit, grabbing the laptop from his bed and sitting in front of him on the floor.

And they worked separately in silence.

Silence on a technicality, really. His aura was impossible to ignore, the feeling of dread and hunger emanated so loudly from his grimace; he typed furiously, and his eyes were practically bulging out of his skull. But…even though Kelland's gut said there was something seriously freaky going on…it felt wrong to write about him like this. Sigh…he’s no monster; just overwhelmed.

And who was he to deny a vampire education from an international top ten university?

“Kelland, the water.”

“Oh.”

He quickly fetched two Styrofoam cups, hurried by the pitched whistle of the kettle. Threw in the bags, some boiling water, and he soon had himself two sad-looking cups of some very good tea. He handed one to Alex, who took it in both hands.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Kelland resolved that he'd have to talk to Alex more, see if he’s the type of person who would appreciate a referral to a guidance counselor, or the health services building (or an exorcist.)

“Kelland.”

“Mm?”

“This tea is…nice. It tastes, uh…”

“Lemony?”

“And gingery, yeah.” A small crack of a smile broke from Alex’s usual unyielding visage.

"What assignment is it? That has you working so, uh, diligently?"

"Do you actually care?"

He shrugged with a slight smile. "I wanna know."

With a bit of prodding, Alex was eased into gushing over his work—a screenplay exercise emphasizing dialogue—and took great care to explain all the parameters of the assignment to Kelland in great detail. It wasn't difficult keeping his smile even and his head nodding; his excitement was infectious.

"They're really working you ragged! I didn't think it'd take so much thought."

"Yeah, simple but complicated," Alex agreed. "But when I'm finally finished, it’ll be perfect. Curry favor with the profs, and boost my standing."

"Ohhh, you're trying to clinch the valedictorian spot."

He hugged his laptop. "That's the plan."

"So what you're really saying is, you're trying to steal the top spot from under me."

He meant it jokingly, but could taste a challenger's malice lingering on his tongue. Kelland prepared for the worst—

"My goal was mostly…aiming for the top of my major," Alex corrected quietly, squeezing his computer closer, a wrinkle in his brow. "But. I guess I could…try. That’s what we're here for, right?"

The room's easy atmosphere was promptly squashed by their heavy reality. They were students, yes, but perpetually locked in a thousands-heads battle: with themselves, other students, the faculty, the media...

“You should go get some rest.”

Kelland blinked. Chuckled. “I could say the same for you.”

“You shouldn’t sacrifice your health for a…good grade."

"I'm sorry—are you unaware that you've stayed up for than 72 hours? These past few days? In a row?”

Alex blinked at that, furrowed his eyebrows. His disbelief pierced through Kelland, and the two found themselves staring incredulously at the other.

“Sorry,” Alex finally muttered. “I must’ve…forgot.”

"So you should get some sleep,"

"I have work to do," his voice pitched low, callous and threatening. Dark eyes sized him up as Alex used the kettle between them to lean closer. There was a flash of gritted teeth before he held his head and groaned.

Alex’s pain was loud and guttural; his voice begged to be freed, but all Kelland’s body let him do was watch. Watch while he stood doubled over, crying out, scratching at his head, screaming pleading—

Until he stopped. And looked at Kelland with a ravenous eye and curt smile, his whole demeanor changed.

“Y-you!” He shouted. Ugh, he knew it! Pinpricks drowned his body and fear seized his throat, but he still fought to gain some control. The “insomnia”, the convulsions, the kettle: hindsight haunted the back of his mind. He continued softly. “If you’re going to…kill me…then get on with it."

Alex (“Alex”…??) cocked his head; intrigue creeping up his half smile.

“I won’t be playing any game of cat and mouse."

“Oh? Then how do you feel about rabbits and carrots?"

“…What?"

He tried with great failure to curb a smile. But a cruel snicker escaped, then a burst of laughter; a condescending boom with the most reserved voice he knew. “One could say I’m out for blood, but not the way you might be thinking!"

“My family has an extensive history with sickle-cell, so—"

“Shut it, I’m not some weakling bloodsucker.” Alex’s face twisted from annoyance to pride. “I’m something a little more…inspired."

He took a step forward and Kelland launched backward, knocking the desk into the wall. An even smile emerged, a gesture that he wouldn’t come closer, and instead lazily scooped up the field journal.

“Hysterical work, by the way," he said, flipping between the filled pages. “You’re perceptive, but the theories need some work."

Kelland felt the dread in his stomach swirl with each word he uttered: Alex wasn’t a vampire, that was certain. But then…

“Where’s Alex? Is he still…here?"

“It’s still his body; he’s letting me have the room."

Somehow, Kelland wasn’t convinced. “What are you?"

He tossed the notebook behind him. “I’m the virus that’s going to make this school #1 in the entire world."

That’s it? It had its share of sinister undertones but he could never challenge anyone’s desire for the top spot. Or anything? Can a thing have desires?

“Virus?"

“The only successful one manufactured by the Python Project at the Robinson College of Engineering." He—it—pondered before continuing. “A fact the team is not yet aware of, but they’ll find out eventually."

The secret team. The longer he found himself speaking with it, the less his fear festered, though it only made more room for a boiling anger. The only explanation Kelland could think of for this slight, was the team’s collective jealousy of his skill.

“I’ve infected this body, Alex Martin," it continued. “He was willing at first, but his sloth has become a liability."

“You mean his need for sleep? Food? Rest?"

“Trivial in theory, but unfortunately indispensable for humans." Kelland realized not only had he not noticed it slinking closer, but he’d stopped shaking entirely. It stationed itself a mere foot away and sighed. “My plan won’t work this way; he has potential but he needs time we don’t have."

“Why the rush?"

“Why sacrifice efficiency for convenience?" Kelland squinted in confusion and it clarified. “Alex is…weak. Prone to snap under pressure. His brain’s a thing to marveled, but I need someone who bends."

“You mean he was fighting you."

“Yes."

Kelland knew exactly where this conversation was headed. Although he had his reservations, he already knew his heart was completely invested in such a merger. He couldn’t understand why he wasn’t invited to research with the Python Project given his accolades so far, his grades, his intelligence…

Cooking up a virus to implant in students in order to “improve“ them was definitely illegal in one way or another. Red flags aside, Kelland was going to team up with this thing, as well as find a way to libel the CoE while minimizing damage to the university.

So that they could be the best in the world.

“Your mind moves fast." Its voice startled him back to the present. “You’re interested in the strength I offer, then?"

“I’m human just like he is. What makes you think you can use me?"

It grinned. “I’ve gained a sense of your character; I doubt you’ll have any trouble adapting. I’ll see to it that you prove yourself…better than Alex in many respects."

Flattery. An obvious ploy. But was it really when Kelland was knowingly positioning himself in the opposition’s favor? The blaring of warning sirens in his gut were easily drowned out by the success-filled daydreams he had running rampant through his brain.

There was no real risk after all.

“Make me #1 in this school," Kelland demanded, holding out an open hand. “And we’ll make Brunner the indisputable best in the world. What should I do?"

It grabbed his hand—crushed it—and Kelland cursed, his body bending into the pain.

“Just this."

Immense pressure. Like his entire body was moving, ebbing; his nerves trying to escape his skin. It was unbearable; he swore it was trying to splice him apart from the inside and he

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it was a test. Gauging his strength, his constitution. He didn’t know when, but it was sure to end, ‘cause he was good at tests, and he was better than Alex. And sure enough, after what felt like half an eternity, it did.

Still standing, he let go of Alex’s hand and caressed his temple. The ebbing, thudding, the pressure was still there, but far from debilitating, much too manageable. He scoffed.

“Kelland!" Alex grabbed him by the arms. The corners of his cracked lips were spread wide, and reached all the way up to the dark bags under his eyes, now brimming with a living shine. He wrapped Kelland in a hug and was reciprocated. “I don’t know what you did, but thank you."

“Don’t thank me yet."

Alex pulled away slowly, uncertainty taking over his face…then a drainage of color, and dread.

“You just cemented yourself as my forever number two," Kelland spoke while walking back over to where they sat on the carpet. “If you work hard, that is. Lots of people’ll want saludatorian now that there’s no chance at the tippy-top."

“…Kelland, you didn’t."

He smirked, lifting the kettle. “You want another tea?"