Adrenochrome

This was a little over a decade ago in the rusted and cracked and broken streets of Los Angeles, CA. The City of Angels that the Lord had abandoned a long, long time ago. It wasn't one of those epiphany gifting, life changing, watershed moments that one has.

But it was one of those moments that sticks in one's mind. It lingers. It haunts. It comes up in the most random of moments, when one least expects it. Like an old lover who is unhappy in their present life and comes knocking at your door. Some memories stay with you because of their emotional impact. Yet others linger in your mind due to their shock value. And certain memories can stick around because they are so far out of the norm. So far out of the norm because they shake one's belief system. This is one of those memories.

It was late afternoon and I was still in my twenties. I had slept the day away, which I rarely ever did. The year was 2009 and it was the beginning of winter. Winter in Los Angeles, which was decidedly different than, say, winter in Buffalo or winter in Boston.

If I knew then what I was going to see that chilly night Downtown, I would've better prepared myself. I would've mentally prepared myself. I still don't understand it. Can't seem to wrap my head around it.

My friend at the time, April, had called and asked if I would like to meet her at the pool hall/bar downtown, where she had just moved, to play some pool and grab some drinks. Taking any chance I could to play someone at pool, I said yes. I don't know if it's inherent in most males or not, but I was a competition junkie. Whether it was pool, basketball, tennis, golf, etc...I was ready and willing, at all times, for competition.

I took the 101 freeway from Woodman Ave in Sherman Oaks, speeding past Studio City, past the hills of Universal City, past the overpasses that look out onto the somewhat, still shining and glamorous streets of Hollywood, past the passenger seat side view of Capitol Records and the corner of Hollywood and Vine, past the hipster avenues of Silverlake, and exited the freeway in Downtown LA, just yards from the Twin Towers, where they housed the seedier elements of that fractured, fading town.

Where the thieves lived. Where the kidnappers dreamed and schemed. Where the murderers laid their ill intentioned heads. Where I would later spend eight excruciatingly damaging and madness filled days, before I decided to run away. Run away and leave my town behind. Forever. If not for the boy. But that, my dear friends, is another story. One too heart-wrenching to tell tonight.

I opened the door to The Ball in Pocket and met my friend. She shot pretty well throughout the night, better than most of my friends anyway. But not well enough to beat me at all. Not one game. After some drinks and honestly, non stimulating conversation, I decided to return home. We said our goodbyes and I began the quarter mile walk back to my car. That was the problem with hanging out Downtown. There were never any parking spaces available and the pay lots were positioned a bit far from the happening bars.

I was walking past a dim-lit alley when I saw it. At the far end of the alley was an old black car with the brake lights activated. Maybe a Lincoln if I were to take a guess. But I really don't know. I'm not and never was a car guy. There was a rather tall man standing at the back of the car and the trunk was popped open. Another man came from the right of my field of vision, most likely out of some back door of a building that I could not see because it was around to the right of the end of the alley. The man who had been standing at the back of the car reached slowly down into the trunk and lifted something of substantial weight, the muscles in his back flexing and contorting as he struggled to lift the object. The street lamps were so bright once you exited the alley that, I still remember to this day, their glow. The glow and shine of those lamps reflecting off and illuminating the clear tub that the man was struggling to hold. Illuminating the sloshing, deep crimson red color of the liquid within the tub. It was a deep red. It would've appeared black, had it not been for the shine of those street lights. It gave me chills. Internal, ravenous chills up every muscle in my spine.

The man handed the tub to the man on his right, who had come from the still unseen building beyond the end of the alley. And that man, with some difficulty due to the weight, returned the tub to the area, now out of view, from which he came. It was then that the man closed the trunk and looked back. Looked back at me, directly at me. He had dark piercing eyes that not only noticed me, but seemed to look through me. Something more than a simple acknowledgement from a total stranger. But something more familiar. More familiar and sinister at the same time.

I began to feel queasy. His gaze was fixed on me. He opened his mouth to smile and that’s when I realized that he had fangs. Long glistening white fangs. One on each side of his horrific grin. He turned, got in his car, and drove off into the city night. I never saw him or anything like that ever again. It still trips me up to this day. But I know what I saw. I know what he was. And I know never to let my child wander the streets of Downtown Los Angeles after dark. No. No. No. Not ever.