I must love what I destroy
and destroy the thing I love.
—Sting: “Moon Over Bourbon Street”.
and destroy the thing I love.
—Sting: “Moon Over Bourbon Street”.
Over the course of his long and solitary existence, his only interactions with others were limited to the brief moments shared with the girls he methodically murdered. He was unable to resist. He felt compelled to respond to the wild scream coming from deep within and give in to the primal instincts driving his actions. He found himself trapped in this way of life much like an innocent lamb. He learned to accept his circumstances and the grotesque reality to which he had descended. From then on, killing became an effortless task for him.
Everything changed when he crossed paths with Krisztina. When he was stalking her, he couldn’t unleash the beasts within him, resigning himself to follow her home, walking behind her. Once she was inside, he would hide in the alley behind her building. From there, in the darkness, he watched over her as she slept, gazing at her window as if instead of wanting to kill her, he were trying to protect her. Drago didn’t understand why this was happening. Perhaps it was because she stirred memories of the man he once was. In any case, he couldn’t have anticipated that on that night he would commit an act he never thought himself capable of.
Crouched in an alleyway, listening to his breath and unconcerned by the foul odor of decaying garbage that filled the air, Drago kept the collar of his trench coat turned up and his hat pulled down in such a way as to hide his beastly eyes and partially conceal his face—pale as the moonlight illuminating it. He watched intently the lamplight that lit up the cobblestone corner of Carfax Avenue and Bourbon Street. He grew impatient. Why was she taking so long? Hadn't she gone to work that day? Had she changed jobs? Had she moved to another neighborhood?
He recalled the first time he saw her. Through the smoke and dim light of the bar where she worked, he watched her ascend the stairs to the stage. A saxophone belched out mundane notes that echoed against the grimy walls and clung to the skin of those present. She was young, but not as much as some of the underage prostitutes who roamed the area, some of whom had been his victims. Once she reached the top, the room erupted into cheers and shouts, followed by an abrupt silence. All eyes were on her. Gradually, she began to remove her clothes, eventually exposing herself to the audience. The drunken, lonely patrons gazed at her as if she were the embodiment of their fantasies, the full realization of their deepest desires, perhaps the last remnant of innocence left in the world. She feigned a smile and pretended to pay them attention. Yet, as she performed her routine, her thoughts drifted to distant places and times, shielded within a protective armor that kept her madness at bay.
That night, Drago waited for her outside the bar and boarded the Carfax Avenue streetcar right after her. He took a seat at the back of the vehicle and got off when she did at Bourbon Street. Keeping a cautious distance, he trailed her to the rundown apartment building in Targumures where she lived. From the alley behind the building, he kept an eye on her window. He imagined her naked, envisioning his hands gliding over her body as he explored her mouth, her breasts, and her most intimate areas. He longed to go up to her room and experience the intense thrill of a predator overpowering its helpless and frightened prey and ultimately put an end to her life. However, he chose to remain outside, guarding her home, until the first rays of dawn forced him to vanish. This ritual went on for weeks.
After midnight, the Carfax Avenue streetcar made its final stop of the day at Bourbon Street, right at the point where the avenue ended and the tracks turned back. Once the only passenger got off, the streetcar reversed direction in a haste, causing the tracks to screech and the street to tremble—as if it wanted to leave that intersection behind as quickly as possible, almost as if it preferred not to head in that direction at all. In reality it couldn’t have gone any further even if it wanted to. Carfax Avenue concluded at Bourbon Street, and beyond that lay the Bathory Cemetery, blocking its way. Yet, more than just that barrier, it was likely its mechanical instincts that warned the streetcar against venturing any further into that forbidden territory.
When Krisztina stepped off the tram, she glanced around warily, crossed the street, and quickened her pace down Borgo Lane. Like an extension of Carfax Avenue, Borgo Lane was a shadowy path flanked by tall trees with lush canopies, slicing the cemetery into two halves and leading to some abandoned railway tracks. Several dilapidated, motionless, and enigmatic carriages were parked on the tracks, with holes in their walls that looked like eyes peering out from the inside. On the other side of the tracks lay the neighborhood of Targumures, called that way because nearly all its residents hailed from a place of the same name in the Carpathian Mountains.
Unlike the streetcar, the residents of Targumures, driven by irrational instincts, dared to traverse Borgo Lane to avoid a long detour around the cemetery's edge. This shortcut was quite convenient, leading them directly to the intersection of Bourbon Street and Carfax Avenue, where they could board the streetcar. They made this risky journey twice daily: through the morning fog on their way to work and again under the cover of night when they returned home.
Such behavior was difficult to rationalize. The area was shrouded in darkness, as light never fully reached it, even during the daytime, due to the tall trees with dense canopies that were scattered all around. Numerous broken tombstones lay on the damp, foul-smelling grass, while much of the stonework meant to secure the crypts’ entrances was crumbling, leaving the entryways wide open. The wind whistled as it bounced off the trees and gravestones, at times sounding like voices, screams, and moans. And as if that weren't enough to deter anyone from wandering through those grounds, there were rumors about the mysterious disappearances of some individuals who had crossed the cemetery via Borgo Lane.
In fact, it wasn't just mere hearsay. Several murdered individuals had been found in the morning with their bodies completely drained of blood, lying beside some of the graves located on the edge of the alley. The residents of Targumures, who were inclined to superstition, attributed the deaths to the work of the Devil. Nevertheless, the locals chose to pass through that dreadful area to get to their jobs and homes, rather than taking a long detour. The convenience of the shortcut outweighed their common sense.
As she had in the past, Krisztina felt the unsettling sensation of being watched. The first time occurred late one night as she walked home from work along Borgo Lane, as usual. Hearing footsteps behind her, she quickened her pace, only to realize that the footsteps were accelerating as well. Overcome by panic, she broke into a run. Gasping for breath, she finally reached her building, raced up the stairs, and entered her apartment. Before drawing the curtains, she cautiously peeked out the window that overlooked the alley. For a moment she believed she spotted a shadow lurking outside. In reality, she only glimpsed the moonlight reflecting off a set of white teeth. As time passed, the anxiety sparked by that unseen presence began to diminish, and since nothing serious had happened to her thereafter, she became accustomed to it. Still, as she rushed home, she pondered why she persisted in taking that risky path back to her place in Targumures. Perhaps it was her pressing desire to shower and wash away any lingering remnant of smoke, alcohol, foul words, and men from her body and mind.
Every day, right after finishing her shower, she would immediately crawl into bed, and thankfully, she would sleep soundly through the night and into the morning. She would rise after noon, prepare a meal for herself, and eat alone at the table. Then she would get ready for work. Before heading out, she would open a trunk, pull out a doll she had kept since childhood, and hug it tightly. She would also kiss a photograph of herself with her mother, the only person she remembered having loved, who had risked her life to shield her from her father's abuse. Once her mother passed away, her father's sexual advances forced her to flee their home. It wasn’t long before others came along who tried to exploit her, and they might have succeeded if not for help from an unexpected and unreliable source.
Krisztina used to ask for money outside the bar where she would later work. The owner of the place noticed her due to her striking beauty and offered her a job as a stripper. Finding herself in a precarious situation, she reluctantly agreed, only after he assured her that all she had to do was to undress on the stage. Surprisingly, the man kept his promise, even going so far as to instruct the bouncers to protect her and ensure that no one forced her into anything against her will. This was how she made her living. The price of this financial gain, however, was a life devoid of love. Disillusioned by men who only wanted her for a physical relationship, she struggled to build any meaningful romantic connections. As she often said, after spending most of her day and night surrounded by a pack of predators, the last thing she wanted was for another man to lay a hand on her.
At times, she vented her frustrations, cursing, lamenting, and blaming life itself for all the hardships she had endured and the turmoil her life had turned into. In those moments, she found solace in memories of her mother, who had bravely stood up to her father's aggression. She had learned to disdain men, feeling nothing toward them but disgust. She could not foresee that an extraordinary event was about to take place that night—one that would completely transform her feelings.
As Krisztina approached the railroad tracks, a figure suddenly emerged from behind one of the train cars. Before she had a chance to respond, a powerful grip clutched her neck while another hand muffled her mouth. Observing the paleness of his face and hands, along with his bloodshot eyes and enormous teeth, Krisztina felt she grasped the situation entirely. With a terrified look and her body shaking, trying to scream, she seemed to plead for mercy. In Dragos’s grip, her tears felt like scalding water.
For the first time Drago had her within his reach. The girl’s racing heart, her strained breathing, and her heaving chest stirred the demons within him. The overpowering desire to rip her dress, possess her, and bring her life to an end was utterly irresistible. Gripping her neck firmly and gazing intently with his cold, glassy eyes into hers, Drago hesitated. In that fleeting moment, he felt as though he were seeing his entire centuries-long existence reflected in Krisztina’s eyes. Memories of the girls he had raped and murdered without a shred of remorse—like any wild beast that kills simply to survive—flashed through his mind. Confused and enraged, he wondered why fate had put him at this crossroads, why he had to love what he ought to destroy and destroy what he loved. Just as Krisztina began to faint, he snapped out of his trance. Panicking at the thought that he might have killed her, he suddenly released her, and she fell hard against the rails.
When she regained consciousness, he was still standing next to her, gazing at her with bewildered eyes. Overcome with fear, she slowly managed to get on her feet and stumbled across the tracks and the street toward her home. Rushing up the stairs and gasping for breath, she entered her apartment, secured the door with three bolts, and drew the curtains shut. Then, exhausted, she collapsed onto her bed and cried for a long time before finally drifting off to sleep.
In the early hours of the day, she woke up, sat up, and peered out the window that overlooked the train tracks. Drago remained there, standing still, his gaze locked on her window. Through her sobs and with considerable effort, Krisztina managed to voice a desperate plea and shouted: "Don't just stay there. The sun will rise soon. You have to leave."
Drago remained motionless and unresponsive. As the first rays of light touched him, he felt his skin start to burn. As the sun climbed higher, an intense heat consumed his insides, and soon, his body burst into flames like a blazing torch. The darkness that pursued him, while incinerating his existence, also provided a strange tranquility, alleviating the torment he had endured for ages. Amid the flames, he still caught sight of Krisztina, staring at him in terror from the window. That was the final image he could hold on to.
As dawn broke in all its splendor, Krisztina rushed out of her apartment and, as if driven by madness, ran towards the rail tracks. Where Drago had stood only moments earlier, there was now nothing but a pile of dust. She sank to her knees in front of the remnants of the monster, gathering the ashes of the beast in her hands and sobbing uncontrollably. Glancing up at the sky, she suddenly let out a horrifying scream that echoed through the deserted streets of Targumures. After a brief pause, still shaken, she let the last traces of her protector slip through her fingers and began to make her way home. Disoriented and feeling as though she had lost something invaluable, overwhelmed by despair and lonelier than ever, she struggled to understand why a murderer had chosen to die instead of killing her.
© Translated from the Spanish by William Almonte Jiménez, 2026.
© Spanish title: “Drago y Krisztina”.
© William Almonte Jiménez, 2014.
© Inspired by the song: “Moon Over Bourbon Street”, by Sting.
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