The One With The Mengliad

By: Jana

Chapter One

XXX

--It’s survival of the species, and that’s all it knows. Needing a blood meal, the protein necessary to her offspring, it searches the streets of New York for a victim, unremorseful.

Spotting potential prey, it swoops in for the kill, biting into warm flesh, taking what it needs without regard to the owner. But danger presents itself, and it can’t obtain all it requires. Another source is vital. From its vantage point, it doesn’t take long to find.

Soft flesh, warm blood, it starts to feast, the task nearly complete.

Darkness.

“Stupid mosquito.” She slapped the insect hard, killing it, then flicked it off her arm before continuing towards her destination.

XXX

--The restaurant was near dark, the only lights on being for the benefit of the crew, as they got ready to open.

That was one thing she loved about her job. The hours. Since they didn’t serve breakfast, the day started with lunch, which meant that she could sleep in till eight and still be on time at ten.

A trusted employee, she keyed into the establishment with her own key, given to her by the owner, immediately being acknowledged by one of the waitresses upon entering.

“Hey, Monica.” It was a cordial greeting, and nothing more.

“Morning, Ursula.” A nice enough person, Monica supposed, but a complete ditz. Not at all capable of waitressing, she guessed the only reason the blonde even had the job was because she was sleeping with the owner.

“Nasty scratch,” Ursula muttered disinterestedly, pouring salt into saltshakers, tossing a pinch over her shoulder when she would spill some, which was often.

Confused, Monica asked, “What scratch?” It wasn’t the first time Ursula said something completely irrelevant to the conversation or situation at hand.

“On your arm,” she answered, pointing. “Looks infected.”

Scowling, Monica looked down at her arm, spotting the angry red mark immediately. “That’s not a scratch,” she mumbled, “It’s a mosquito bite.”

“Doesn’t look like a mosquito bite,” the waitress replied. “Maybe a dog bit you. Maybe you have rabies!” she added, almost excitedly.

Monica glared in return. “It’s not a dog bite! I would remember getting bit by a dog! It’s a mosquito bite,” she repeated.

“What is?” Ursula asked, and Monica just rolled her eyes. The woman had the attention span of a gnat.

“I’ll just go get the first aid kit and put something on it.” Twisting her skin to get a better look at the blotch, she added, “And put a band-aid over it.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Ursula announced. “The lunch special today is tuna melt.”

“Why would that remind you?”

With a smile, Ursula just nodded and muttered, “Ok.”

Exasperated, Monica shook her head and walked away.

XXX

--It wasn’t like her to get sick. The few times she had become ill, she was usually able to work in spite of it. This time, she couldn’t. Nauseous and dizzy, sweat poured off her one minute, only to be shivering the next. As the day dragged on, her condition worsened, and it didn’t go unnoticed by her staff.

“You need to go home, Monica,” one of the waitresses exclaimed. “You’re sick!”

“I don’t get sick, Marcy,” she told her friend, in denial.

“Well, you are today,” Marcy stated firmly. “Go to the doctor! Or at least go home! Get some rest or something! You can’t work like this.”

“Sure I can!” she insisted, then swayed as she nearly fainted, Marcy catching her before she hit the floor.

“Ok, I’m getting Ursula to call you an ambulance,” Marcy announced, then turned towards the swinging door. “Urs! Get in here!”

“I don’t need an ambulance,” Monica complained.

“What?” Ursula asked as she walked in.

“Call 9-1-1,” Marcy instructed, looking sharply to Monica in explanation of why the paramedics were needed.

“Ok,” Ursula replied, obliviously calm. “What’s the number?”

Monica sighed deeply, annoyed. “Never mind,” she snipped. “I don’t need to go to the hospital,” she insisted, “I’m just gonna go home, ok? It’s probably just one of those 24 hour flu bugs or something.”

“You sure you’re ok to walk?” Marcy asked, concerned.

“I’m sure. I’m fine!” she added. “Stop worrying! I’ll be in tomorrow, ok?”

“Ok, but, call me when you get home, so I know you’re ok.”

Monica smiled. “Ok, ok. I will. Oh,” she added, “Table four wants the steak ultra-rare.”

“We can deal, Mon. Go home.”

Nodding, she then padded over to the employee room to get her coat and purse. “Little tea and some rest, and I’ll be good as new,” she mumbled, trying to convince herself. “I don’t get sick.”

XXX

--Confused and disoriented, she sat up, looking around as people passed her without concern. She was in Central Park, she knew that much, but she couldn’t remember how she got there. She remembered leaving the restaurant, because she didn’t feel well, but nothing after that. Why was she on the ground?

“You ok?”

The voice startled her, and her attention snapped over to the man who asked the simple question.

“I think so,” she answered, unsure.

“Where are your glasses?”

Glasses, she thought to herself? I don’t wear glasses. It was then that she realized…

“I’ve been mugged!” she announced, feeling around in the fallen leaves for her purse.

“Oh, man!” the guy exclaimed, sympathetic. “Good thing it’s sundown, eh?”

What difference did it make what time of day it was, she wondered? Getting mugged is upsetting any time of day.

“I suppose your spare pair was in there, huh?”

With a puzzled expression and a shake of her head, she asked, “What are you talking about?”

He stared back for a moment, then smiled kindly. “Oh. Yeah, it can leave you disoriented sometimes.”

Deciding to move past it, she picked herself up off the ground, allowing him to help her. “I don’t even remember how I got here,” she muttered, to herself as much to the stranger beside her.

“Well, retrace your steps,” he suggested. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I left Riffs, where I work, cause I felt sick. Dizzy, nauseous, hot and cold sweats,” she told him. “You might not want to stand too close, or you’ll catch it. Anyway,” she continued, “I left the restaurant early, to go home and get some rest, and I remember leaving… but I can’t remember anything after that.”

“Wait a minute,” he interjected, “You felt sick?”

“Yes.”

Seemingly perplexed, he asked with an inflection that mirrored his expression, “You felt sick? How can that be?”

Why did he keep fixating on that? “What do you mean, how can that be? I just was! Am. A flu bug, I think. A nasty one, too! Guess it’s going around.”

She looked around at the ground again, hoping against hope that her belongings would be there. “I guess I could’ve passed out, and gotten mugged while I was unconscious. Assholes,” she muttered in reference to whoever committed the crime, then her attention went back to the odd man who continued to stare at her. “What?”

“I don’t understand, how can you be sick?” Leaning in, his voice quiet as if sharing a secret, he asked, “I mean, you’re Mengliad, right?”

She cocked her head at the foreign word.

“How can you not be Mengliad,” he asked her. “You reek of it!”

“Excuse me?” she asked, indignant. “I reek of what, exactly?”

“Enyoh,” he replied simply, his brow furrowed in response to her obvious confusion.

He’s a frootloop, she thought to herself, then smiled politely.

“Look, thanks for trying to help and all, but I think I’m just gonna go to the police station and report my mugging, then head home and take a nice long bath.”

Smiling back, he asked hesitantly, “You want me to walk with you? To the police station? You seem a little, out of it.”

“No,” she said quickly, holding her hand up in gesture. “I’m fine, thanks.” Testing to see what his reaction would be, she took a step back and away. When he made no move to follow her, she smiled again, offered a little wave, then backed another step. “Bye.”

With a slight nod, he turned and walked in the opposite direction, his ‘things to do’ list showing he had one more errand to run.

XXX

--Walking through the door, he was immediately greeted by his roommate’s ass, sticking out of the fridge.

“Hey, Joey,” he laughed, giving the freezer door above his head a gentle knock with his knuckle.

Joey remained on task as he rummaged. “Hey, Chandler. Hungry?” he asked, producing two beer bottles from the fridge and offering one to his roommate. “We got Mealies!” he announced cheerfully.

“Where from? That place on Fifth St.? Cause I swear, they don’t check the suppliers.”

Joey shook his head. “The place on Bleeker.”

“Ok, good! They’re a little pricier, but they farm ‘em themselves.”

“Spoken like a guy with money to spare,” Joey returned with a smirk, adding, “Pheebs is coming by in a few.”

“K.” The one syllable sound was the only acknowledgement Chandler offered as he headed for his room to change out of his work clothes.

“Oh, and Chandler?” Joey suddenly remembered, “That idiot from the committee called again.”

Chandler scoffed. “You would think I was the only one left!” he exclaimed, then nodded in receipt of the message before disappearing into his room. “Weird thing happened today,” he called out after a minute.

“Yeah?” Joey called back.

“Yeah.” Reentering the livingroom and heading for the kitchen, Chandler shared his story. “There was this gal at the park today, on the ground, and she was all confused, and disoriented. And she wasn’t wearing her glasses.”

Suddenly concerned, Joey asked, “Why not?”

“She said she got mugged,” Chandler replied. “She seemed pretty shaken up. She was talking about being sick.”

“And she was…?” The question trailed off as he pulled a tall plastic storage container from the pantry shelf.

Chandler nodded. “Definitely.”

“She had the scent?”

“She reeked of it! It was as strong as I’ve ever smelled!”

“What’s as strong as you’ve ever smelled?” Phoebe asked, involving herself in the conversation as soon as she walked through the door.

“Mealies?” Joey asked, holding the container up for her to see.

“Sure,” she agreed easily. “Where are they from?”

“Henderson’s on Bleeker.”

“That’ll work,” she said with an approving nod. “So, what were you talking about?”

“This woman I ran into at the park. She was really disoriented, and she wasn’t wearing her glasses. She said she’d been mugged, so I figured they made off with her glasses, and her spare was in her purse, so they got those too. But, she kept talking about being sick with the flu! And she seemed more confused than would be considered normal.”

“You’re sure she was Mengliad?” she asked, accepting the bowl of food from Joey.

“Positive” he returned assuredly. “She reeked of it!”

Phoebe startled. “It was especially strong?”

“Yeah,” he answered, trying to follow the sudden change in her demeanor.

“Like in a newborn?!” she asked, her tone as intense as her expression.

Eyes growing wide as he caught on, he asked, “A convert?! I’ve never met one before!”

“They’re not too common,” she said as she shook her bowl to get her food to calm down. “But, there are rituals,” she added with thought. “Odd that she would be so confused. She had to know what was happening. And why was she out and about, when she shoulda been in bed?”

“All good points,” Chandler agreed, grabbing the escapees from his bowl off the counter and popping them in his mouth.

“Unless,” she gasped suddenly, “Unless, she didn’t know it was happening!”

Joey and Chandler both just looked at her, their brows furrowed an indication they weren’t quite sure what she was talking about.

“It’s rare,” she explained. “Really rare. Like, only nine proven reported cases, ever, but, it’s possible, possible, that she was converted without knowledge or consent.”

“How?” Joey asked, her explanation creating new questions.

“She obviously has Mengliad DNA, but sometimes, the ritual isn’t performed at birth. All it would take is a drop of blood from a pure-born Mengliad. If she had an open wound, and a Mengliad’s blood got into that wound somehow…”

“I thought most Humans with Mengliad DNA die within a few months of being born, without the ritual,” Joey questioned, to which Phoebe shook her head.

“That’s a misconception. Something they teach now, as a way of scaring people into doing the ritual. Sure, odds are a Human baby with Mengliad DNA will die, but it’s not a hard and fast rule. Some live. And then they grow up and reproduce. Then that offspring grows up and reproduces. There’s actually a whole bunch of Humans with Mengliad DNA out there, who have no idea what they are, or that we even exist.”

“So, this gal Chandler ran into, is a Human with Mengliad DNA, who was converted without knowledge or consent, and now she’s just running around out there with no idea what’s going on?”

Phoebe nodded. “That’s what I’m thinking, yeah.”

“We should go find her,” Chandler suggested, “Before a purist sees her first!”

“And before dawn hits,” she added. “She doesn’t own glasses, nor does she know she needs them.”

“How do we find her?” Joey asked.

“She said where she works,” Chandler remembered suddenly. “She said she works at Riffs!”

“Oh, God,” Phoebe muttered, and the guys looked at her with questioning eyes. “Ursula works there.”

“Your sister?” Joey asked, getting a nod in return. “But, she’s a purist, isn’t she?!”

Again, Phoebe nodded.

“We gotta get to her before she goes into work!” Chandler exclaimed, concerned about a woman whose name he didn’t even know.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Author’s note:

Ok, I started this story about 4 years ago, and pulled it after 6 chapters… the reasons why aren’t important. I’m reposting it now, because my muse is pestering me to pick it back up. This is a sci-fi kind of thing, but will also have quite a bit of comedy, drama, angst, and especially, romance. Even if sci-fi isn’t ‘your thing’, don’t give up on this story just yet. I bet you’ll find, it has a little something for everyone.

Also, because this was originally started so long ago, the writing might seem a bit ‘different’ than my more recent works… I apologize for this. I made a few changes in this and the other five original chapters, but essentially left the bulk of the content alone. It didn’t seem subpar to the point of needing a complete overhaul.

Need reviews! Seriously! Click and leave one, pretty please.

MTLBYAKY