The girl shook her head even as he heard her stomach rumble. Zane was surprised to feel more offended than angered by her unspoken accusation. “I assure you I am not the kind of monster you think I am.”
He held up the bakery box with one hand, flipped the top with the other and then tilted it slightly. She eyed the cake as he tore off a large chunk and then followed his hand, her lips parting as he slipped the tasteless food into his mouth. He chewed slowly, swallowed. She licked her lips a moment before he did the same.
Zane smiled. “Please...accept my gift.”
And then invite me in for a bite.
The girl inhaled and exhaled a deep breath. “Fine—but just this once. Don’t bring me anything else.”
Yes, definitely in need of a spanking...
“Thank you,” he replied. “And I promise not to.”
“Leave it beside the door.”
...a very hard one...
Zane placed the box where she had instructed and then unhooked his sunglasses from his belt loop. “Enjoy,” he said, slipping them on.
She did not thank him.
...with my goddamn belt.
Zane wondered how courageous she would be without a piece of wood and glass separating them. Instead of kicking down the door and finding out, he returned to the van. After he climbed in, the front door creaked open. The girl grabbed the cake and then darted back inside without a glance in his direction.
‘Tis for the best, my child. That one—
“Is not worth the effort,” Zane snarled, gently closing instead of slamming his door.
He grabbed his cell off the passenger seat, pressed one. Barbie answered on the first ring with a surprised, “Zane!”
He growled.
“S-Sorry—Master. I meant Master.”
“Call in tonight,” he ordered. “I have a much more satisfying punishment in mind for you.”
“Yes, Ma—”
He hung up, threw the cell back on the seat. After a not-so-calming breath, Zane started the engine and jerked the gear into reverse. He slowly backed down the driveway instead of shooting out of it in a cloud of flying gravel and dust like he wanted.
Lacey gnawed on her not-much-left-of-it thumbnail as she stared out the kitchen window. The Man’s head turned in her direction as he shifted into drive. A smile followed by a raised hand.
He knows I’m watching.
The van lurched forward. His hidden gaze remained on the house as the vehicle crept down the road, eventually disappearing behind the trees. Lacey’s hand dropped, hitting the table as she looked down at the cake. Had the bite he’d taken been big enough to prove that it wasn’t poisoned? What if it hadn’t been poisoned at all but made with some kind of knock-out drug?
Lacey returned her gaze to the window and her thumbnail to her mouth. He could be out there waiting for her to eat enough to pass out so he could come back and—
She pushed away the bakery box.
But would he really go to so much trouble? She wouldn’t be able to fight him off if he wanted to rape, torture and/or murder her. And if that was his intention, wouldn’t the sicko want her awake for it all?
She pulled the box forward.
Unless, of course, he didn’t want to do all those things here. He had no way of knowing whether or not she lived alone, right? So he’d want to kidnap and then take her to his basement lair where he could act out his twisted fantasies in private. And if she were unconscious, he’d be able to get her there without incident.
She shoved the box back.
But what if he really was just a friendly neighbor? He hadn’t said or done anything that would indicate otherwise—quite the opposite, in fact. Yesterday, he’d thought she was in trouble or hurt and had rushed over to make sure she was okay. And then today he’d brought her a housewarming gift. It would be a shame to throw away a perfectly good cake simply because she’d seen one too many episodes of crime television.
Lacey pulled the box forward, leaned over it and inhaled deeply. Saliva pooled in her mouth. Swallowing hard, she ran the tip of her pinkie finger through the creamy frosting, sniffing it before sticking out just the tip of her tongue to take a tiny lick. Her taste buds wept with joy.
Devil’s Food cake.
Devil’s!
Why not Angel Food cake?
“Oh shut up, brain,” she grumbled, tearing off a large piece from the same spot The Man had. Before she could think herself out of doing it, she shoved it into her mouth. Her eyes rolled back.
Lacey allowed the moist, rich cake to liquefy before swallowing it and then jammed another even bigger chunk into her mouth. At that moment, waking up naked and chained to a cement wall seemed like a small price to pay for such heaven.
Chapter 9
Barbie shrieked, tightening her grip on the long chains of the metal handcuffs glinting in the flickering candlelight. “I’m s-sorry, Master! I’m so so s-sorry!”
Knelt between her splayed legs, Zane sneered at the large wet spot on the wedge-shaped sex prop pillow underneath her glistening, dripping cunt. “I believe you are enjoying your punishment far too much, Pet.”
Barbie looked over her shoulder, eyes half-closed and a trace of a smile on her slightly opened mouth. Her shallow breath turned into a sharp hiss as Zane ran the leather belt over one of the narrow red stripes crisscrossing her raised ass. “I think I know how to change that, however,” he said.
Zane wrapped the belt around his hand until only a couple of inches remained, and then raised his arm. Barbie stiffened in expectation, stopped breathing.
After a long pause to build the tension, he brought his arm down hard and fast. Her eyes snapped wide open when the end of the belt struck her engorged clit. She screamed as if it had been cut off with a pair of dull scissors and began thrashing, making the chains of the hand- and leg cuffs clink against the head- and footboard.
Leaning over her, Zane grabbed a handful of Barbie’s hair and then jerked her head back. “I am going to ask you this only one more time,” he snarled. “Why are you apologizing?”
“For lying and crying and touching you!”
Zane pressed his crotch hard against her sensitive flesh, began grinding his hips. With a sharp intake of breath Barbie squeezed her eyes shut tight. Saturated with pain, the scent of her blood awakened the thirst within, his gums tingling a moment before his canine teeth transformed and elongated. He sank his fangs into her neck, eliciting another sharp hiss.
After swallowing four mouthfuls of blood Zane shoved Barbie’s face into the pillow and then pushed off of her, propelling himself to the end of the bed. He held his breath, fighting to remain in control as his eternal thirst demanded more than what he could safely take. When the crushing pain in his chest became unbearable, he sucked air in between his clenched teeth, filling his lungs to capacity. With a harsh exhale, he shot off the bed.
Barbie reared up as Zane snatched the small silver key from atop the night stand. He undid the cuff on her right ankle and wrist and then stormed to the other side of the bed. “Master?”
Ignoring her, Zane freed Barbie’s left wrist and ankle, threw the key on the bed as she rolled on to her back and sat up. “May I please speak?”
“No,” he snarled.
As Zane charged across the bedroom the scent of fear filled his nostrils, bringing with it a realization that made him freeze in the doorway: for the second time, he had not been able to detect the girl’s blood.
Blodbad sighed, the sound like a miniature hurricane inside Zane’s head. Your senses are impaired and will remain so until you give your body what it requires in order to fully repair itself.
Zane shook his head as he all but ran out of the condo. Once he was in the privacy of his van, he argued, “My diet has not changed in years, and never before have I been unable to smell human blood.”
Trust me, my child, I know what you need. Now leave here. The city awaits you.
“And the scourge of the earth contained within.”
“I am no beggar,” Zane snarled.
No? I seem to recall you begging for the attention of a certain human earlier this day.
Growling low in his throat, Zane started the engine and cranked the stereo.
Blodbad laughed.
Zane gnashed his teeth as he stomped on the gas. He would gladly gorge himself tonight if for no other reason than to be free of the annoyance that was his creator.
Chapter 10
I’m dead.
The luminous glow surrounding her had to be the proverbial light coaxing her on.
With a soft whimper that quickly turned into a loud grumble, Lacey opened her eyes and discovered it wasn’t Heaven beckoning to her but Hell in the form of a new day not so subtly telling her to get her ass out of bed.
Shielding her eyes from the sunshine spotlight coming through the window, Lacey glanced at the alarm clock and did a double take when she saw it was two-thirty in the afternoon. Thanks to the major crash resulting from the previous afternoon’s sugar overload, she’d slept for almost twenty-three hours.
Not that there was anything else to do.
She was actually starting to look forward to school; at least then she’d have homework. But the start of her senior year was still a week away. Seven more days of...what? Overdoses of junk food followed by marathon sleeping?
Thrashing her legs, Lacey kicked off the comforter, making Casper—who had been underneath it—shoot off the bed like a white fireball. She whipped around, slammed her feet down on the floor. “I’ll be batshit crazy by then,” she grumbled, swiping the back of her hand across her damp forehead as she stood up.
Lacey stomped over to the window. After a couple of shakes and a string of obscenities she managed to pry it open. Leaning against the sill, she sighed as a gentle breeze cooled her heated skin. It had to be at least ninety degrees outside—and in.
Of course the house would hold heat only when she didn’t want it to.
Her gaze drifted down to the gravel driveway where her scooter stood alone. She wondered how many towns Clint had given a paper makeover to so far. Quite a few she imagined, knowing he’d want to get as many covered as he could before he started his new job at the poultry plant.
Closing her eyes, Lacey listened for a few moments to a Blue Jay’s boisterous, hawk-like call before heading into the grungy bathroom. She was as reluctant to use it as she was spending some of what little money she had, but she had no choice in either matter. She needed a shower and boredom killers—STAT.
An hour later, Lacey pulled into the Walmart Supercenter parking lot with a Phyllis Diller voice and Arnold Schwarzenegger thighs as a result of screaming obscenities at the scooter while Fred Flintstoneing it up the mountainous terrain in between Hermit and Woodstock. The damn thing had stalled twice, both times dead center of roller coaster-like hills. The second time she actually got flipped off by Farmer Ted as he passed by on his sputtering farm tractor.
No wonder The Beave had wanted to get rid of it.
As she entered the store, an arctic blast of conditioned air thick with the scent of rotisserie chicken welcomed Lacey with a one-two punch that left her head aching and her stomach growling. “Welcome to Walmart,” chimed the door greeter, who was almost as round as he was tall. He sported a novelty headband with dark blue stars atop the two long, glittering silver wires that shot out of the base.
“Thrilled to be here,” she mumbled, storming past him. When the deli came into view she stopped abruptly, shoe sole’s squeaking. She licked her lips as her hungry eyes devoured the hot case filled with potato wedges, General Tso’s, corn dogs, macaroni and cheese and all sorts of other scrumptious looking things that were not Ramen noodles.
“Help you?” asked the hair-net clad female leaning against the backside of the hot case. Her slack jaw and glazed eyes made her look like a severely doped up mental patient—either that or a zombie. It was a close call.
“Not unless you’re giving the crap away,” Lacey replied, eliciting a snicker from the lanky, orange-haired boy stocking the produce section across from the deli/bakery. She scowled at him. “What are you laughing at?”
“My life,” he exhaled as he tossed another bag of onions on to the teetering pile in front of him.
Lacey felt the corner of her mouth lift—misery really did love company. She ducked into the book aisle as a wrinkly, blue-haired demon on a motorized cart zipped by and was almost run over by a Britney Spears look-a-like in Happy Bunny pajamas pushing a cart overflowing with Pop-Tarts, diapers and children.
“Just Say No doesn’t only apply to drugs,” Lacey told the young girl who didn’t seem to notice the wails coming from the baby strapped inside the carrier seat attached to the cart’s front basket.
“Screw you,” she said, yawning as she picked up a copy of Seventeen magazine while the toddler inside the cart tried to gnaw open a box of cereal.
“Sorry, I don’t swing that way...but you probably should more often.”
The girl mumbled something under her breath as she threw the magazine back on the shelf and then sped off like a race car driver at the sight of a green flag.
Lacey leaped over the flailing arm of the Superman-channeling boy stretched out on the bottom of the cart and then knelt in front of the row of Stephen King novels. After a quick sweep she found what she was looking for: a copy of Pet Sematary, which she’d started reading a month ago at a different Walmart in a different town.
After grabbing a deck of cards, two coloring books and a box of crayons from the toy section, Lacey went to the pet aisle, picking out three toys for Casper before becoming lucky number thirteen in the Express Checkout. For some reason, the snow-white hair of the elderly man standing in front of her made Lacey think of Ghost Boy. Scowling, she focused on the heaping pile of extra-saucy BBQ chunks in the deli thirty feet away from her, exorcising GB quicker than Peter, Ray, Winston and Egon ever could. The doped up mental patient zombie was still leaning against the hot case, and this time it looked like she was drooling.
Lacey felt on the verge of drooling herself as she remembered the Burger King right down the street. The smile that had begun to creep onto her lips at the thought of sinking her teeth into a juicy Whopper with melted cheese vanished as her wandering eyes landed on an all too familiar sight: in between the bathrooms was a giant board with missing person fliers attached to it, and of course Amelia, with her condescending, blinding white grin (I have to have the bleaching, Clint, all the A List celebrities do it!) just had to be one of them.
“Will there be anything else?” asked the ogreish cashier.
Lacey blew out a harsh breath as she dumped her stuff on to the conveyor belt. “Do you see anything else?”
With a deliberate slowness, the cashier swept the items across the barcode scanner, depositing them one by one into a plastic bag. Picking it up, she held it out to Lacey—who roughly grabbed it out of her pudgy-fingered hand—before hitting a button on the register. “Your total is fourteen sixty-nine.”
Handing her a twenty, Lacey returned the cashier’s smirk. “Here ya go, Princess Fiona.”
The cashier’s grin slid off her reddening face as she handed Lacey her change. “Thank you for shopping at Walmart,” she bit out through clenched teeth. “Please come again.”
Lacey gave her a parting wink before leaving the freezer for the oven. By the time she pulled out on to Route 42—after dodging several cars whose drivers apparently couldn’t care less about right-of-way laws or stop lights—she was wishing she’d worn shorts instead of jeans.
Less than a minute later she entered a fast food junkie’s paradise: McDonald’s, Wendy’s, Pizza Hut and KFC on her right, Burger King, Taco Bell and Arby’s on her left. No contest, of course—all hail the King. She didn’t know what they put into their Whoppers but the things should come with warning labels just like alcohol and cigarettes. Good thing she didn’t gain weight easily because lounging around in bed reading Richar
d Bachman was a helluva lot more appealing to her than Sweatin’ to the Oldies with Richard Simmons.
Lacey parked in the first available spot and then dashed inside, beating to the counter a middle-aged man wearing blue coveralls splattered with white paint and a baseball cap with CARL embroidered on it. “Whopper with cheese and a large—”
Don’t forget you have an hour long ride-walk back to the house of horrors.
“—make that a small root beer.”
The spindling girl behind the counter (Olivia was printed in white letters on her red name tag, though to Lacey she looked more like an Olive, as in Oyl) flashed a much practiced smile and said, “For only a dollar more—”
Lacey’s hand flew up, silencing Popeye’s girlie as effectively as Jason Voorhees’s machete.
A couple of minutes later she was sliding into a booth at the back of the restaurant. Her taste buds tap danced as she took a bite that would’ve made Jaws feel inferior.
Ohmuhgawd.
Lacey swallowed after only three chews and then wrapped her lips around the straw of her drink, sucking hard and fast as she glanced out the window, almost strangling when she realized she had an audience. Leaning against the front of a white van was a raven-haired woman. Her sequined blouse, leather pants and stilettos were the same scarlet red shade as her long fingernails and lips, which were parted slightly because of the black sunglasses dangling from between her obviously bleached-to-blinding-white teeth.
The corners of the woman’s mouth curled up as their eyes met.
Lacey was about to mouth Can I help you? when the woman suddenly spun around. She greeted Carl, who was trying to sneak up on her, with a hard slap that sent the Burger King bag he carried flying out of his hand. The woman laughed as Carl—grinning, no less—snatched the bag off the ground.
With a roll of her eyes, Lacey returned her attention to her meal. Woodstock’s inhabitants were even weirder than Hermit’s.
Let Him In (Let Him Trilogy) Page 6
