The Vengeful Vampire

by Marissa Farrar

  He smiled again. “You didn’t get very far.”

  “No. I never do.”

  She suddenly realized he still held her in his arms, her breasts pressed up against his broad chest, his face inches from her own. He seemed aware of their close proximity at the same moment and stepped away, leaving them both flustered.

  Serenity stared down at the ground, too embarrassed to meet his eyes. What had gone through her? Had he somehow reached inside and touched the essence of who she was?

  She shook her head slightly, alarmed at her own thoughts. The stress must be too much.

  “I... I have to go,” she managed, pushing past, not trusting herself to look at him again. She sensed him about to reach out to her, but he didn’t and she kept walking. Only when she reached the main street, with its lights and bustle of people, did she dare glance back.

  He was gone.

  A strange ache of disappointment and relief filled her and she chewed at her lower lip, worrying at a piece of dried skin. Serenity found herself trying to commit his face to memory, to remember how she’d felt when he took her hand. She would bury the moment deep inside and dig it out like an old forgotten favorite teddy or blanket when things got really bad.

  The thought made her want to cry but she pressed her lips together and fought the tears. She wouldn’t let herself cry. Not anymore.

  It was getting late; Jackson would already be wondering where she was. Hoping to do damage control, she fished in her handbag and found her cell phone. She only had three numbers programmed in; home, work and Jackson’s cell. Hitting home, she put the phone to her ear.

  It rang twice before her husband picked up.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, honey,” she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “I just wanted to let you know I’m going to be a bit late. The traffic is terrible and I couldn’t get on the last bus, it was full of Japanese tourists.”

  He stayed silent on the other end. Serenity held her breath in anticipation.

  “How long are you going to be?”

  She heard the measure in his voice, as though every additional ten minutes would buy her another punch.

  “Half an hour,” she said. “Quick as I can.”

  Air whistled down the phone as he huffed through his nose, something he always did when he was pissed, a bull shown a red flag.

  “Fine, but hurry up. I’m getting hungry,” and he hung up.

  Serenity hurried down the road toward her stop, praying the bus wouldn’t take long to arrive. To her relief, the big blue bus trundled down the road toward her and she broke into a trot, ignoring her protesting ribs, desperate not to miss this one.

  Making it in plenty of time, she joined the line. There was no hint of the panic attack she had suffered earlier at this same close proximity of a crowd. Strangely, she felt better within herself, as if the nugget of hope she had stored within herself fed her strength.

  She flashed her travel card at the driver who barely bothered to check. Passengers filled all of the seats so she grabbed hold of one of the standing poles.

  With her free hand, Serenity fingered the thin silver necklace nestled at her throat, the letter ‘S’ hanging from the chain. The necklace was the only present she’d ever received from her mother and she rubbed the cool metal like a good luck charm whenever she grew nervous, which was often.

  As the bus pulled away, she caught something out of the corner of her eye. She swung her head around and peered through the bus window. It was as though her eyes sought him out through the crowds, like some part of her deep down knew exactly where to look, exactly where to find him. For there, on the other side of the street in the shadows of a doorway, stood the man who had tried to help.

  Watching her.

  Chapter Two

  Serenity arrived home over an hour late.

  Standing outside her front door, she couldn’t help but admire the little duplex despite the person within. Though the yard was small, she spent what free time she had keeping the window boxes pretty and the space tidy. Jackson’s father died a few years earlier, leaving Jackson a good sum of money and astonishing Serenity, who assumed the man would have drunk any savings away. With his inheritance, Jackson bought the two bed duplex in Glendale, a decent district of LA.

  She put the key in the lock and, like a teenager sneaking home from a late night party, turned it as quietly as possible. The door opened with a click. No sounds came from inside; a bad sign. When Jackson relaxed, he put his feet up in front of the television. With the television not on, Serenity knew she’d find him sitting at the kitchen table, brooding with his forearms resting on the surface in front of him.

  Serenity hung her bag and coat on the hooks behind the front door. She took a deep breath and tried to ignore her heart. It thumped so hard she thought the organ might burst from her chest.

  I can’t do it, she thought. I can’t tell him I got fired. He’ll kill me.

  Walking into the kitchen, she found Jackson exactly as she’d pictured him, sitting with his back to her. His narrow shoulders and long back hunched over the table, his too long, light brown hair hiding his neck.

  She moved around the table to face him, but he didn’t even raise his eyes to glare at her through his rimless, rectangular glasses.

  Jackson wore his glasses most of the time, even though he only needed them to read or for computer work. He liked to appear intelligent and thought the addition did that for him. To anyone else he appeared harmless; a slightly geeky guy. He certainly didn’t fit the look of a wife beater.

  “Hi honey,” she said, trying to make her voice bright. “Sorry I’m late.” She bent down and kissed his cheek. “How was your day? How did the writing go?”

  She acted overly cheerful, compensating for the dark mood radiating from her spouse.

  “It was fine,” he said still not bothering to look at her. “What’s for dinner?”

  Food had been the furthest thing from her mind, but suddenly the question loomed huge. Giving the wrong answer would be the final spark to his tinder, the thing to ignite his temper.

  She gave a smile, the expression false on her face. “I thought I’d do us some old fashioned bacon-burgers and fries, maybe with extra cheese?”

  His shoulders relaxed and she stopped herself breathing a sigh of relief.

  “As long as you miss out the cheese and fries for yourself.” He reached out and slapped her on the backside, a more than playful smack that left her skin stinging. “You know how easily you pile on the extra pounds.”

  The slap made up her mind. She wouldn’t tell him about getting fired.

  Serenity opened the refrigerator and pulled out a cold bottle of beer. She cracked the lid off and handed it to Jackson, who took the brew with a faint smile.

  “Why don’t you go into the living room and make yourself comfortable,” she said. “Let me do my thing in here.”

  He was reluctant to leave her. She knew he still hadn’t made up his mind about whether to punish her for being late but she was heading in the right direction and so pressed on.

  “Go on, hon. You must be exhausted. I understand how hard you work.”

  “I am tired,” he admitted. “The words just didn’t seem to want to come today.”

  “How much did you get done? Do you have any idea when you’ll be finished?”

  Jackson raised his face to her, head tilted to one side, his eyes narrowed. “Are you giving me a deadline, Serenity?”

  “No... No… Of course not,” she tripped over her words. “But I know how frustrated you feel when you...”

  He was on his feet in an instant, his chair crashing to the floor behind him. His face pressed up against hers, breath hot against her skin. His thick fingers wrapped tight around her neck, squeezing. Her breath caught in her throat as his fingers dug painfully into her trachea, choking her.

  “Don’t you fucking tell me what I feel!”

  He shoved her backward and she fell, crashing into their lar
ge, silver trashcan. Trash spilled out on the floor and the can hit the tiles with a reverberating clang. Pain shot up through her ribs, red hot spears of agony, and she instinctively curled up into the fetal position, her arms protecting her head.

  “Look what you’ve done,” he spat, kicking at the spilled contents of the can. “I hope you’re going to clean this mess up.”

  Jackson snatched the beer bottle off the table and stalked out of the room. Within seconds, the roar of the television reached her ears; the rage built up inside of him now released. What she’d said hadn’t mattered; he’d been itching for a fight. Even if she’d stayed utterly silent, he still would have found some reason to hit her.

  Despite the pain, part of her was relieved. Maybe now he wouldn’t read the truth in her face? Maybe now he wouldn’t see her secret?

  Serenity rolled to her side, cheek pressed against the cold tiles. She stayed there for a moment, waiting for the pain to subside. Slowly, the initial stabbing pain dulled to a familiar ache. She squeezed her eyes shut and prepared for the fresh wave she knew would come as soon as she tried to move again.

  I will leave him, she promised herself for the millionth time. I don’t deserve this.

  From out of nowhere, the stranger’s face rose in her mind and she remembered the feel of his touch. That was what she wanted. Someone who stirred such intense emotions, it made her gasp for breath, and not because he’d inflicted pain. She cradled the hand her stranger had touched to her body and closed her eyes, recalling every sensation. Something welled up deep inside, a wave rolling through her body, wiping out the pain. Would she see him again?

  Panic jolted through her at the idea that she might forget his face or how he’d made her feel. Suddenly, remembering this man was more important than dealing with the abusive husband she remained terrified to walk away from.

  “Find me again,” she whispered to the empty kitchen.

  Realizing she had spoken aloud, her cheeks flushed and she worried Jackson may have heard her above the television. How absurd to think the man would give her a second thought, never mind come looking for her.

  Feeling stupid, she carefully pushed to her knees and began to gather trash—empty cans, an old cereal packet, a pizza box—toward her. Tomato sauce and bits of pasta from last night’s meal clung to the floor. Sauce stuck to her fingers and she wiped them on the seat of her pants in disgust. Like an old woman, she climbed to her feet, using the wall for support. She righted the big metal bin and proceeded to refill it.

  “I hope that’s my dinner you’re crashing about making,” Jackson shouted from the living room.

  “It’s coming,” she managed weakly, but the coil of anger from earlier raised its head again and lashed its tail. Her body might be weak, but that didn’t mean the woman inside had to be as well.

  Things needed to change.

  Serenity had been curled up in bed for an hour when she heard Jackson’s heavy footsteps on the stairs. Her whole body tensed, but she forced her muscles to relax and made her breath steady and even, hoping Jackson would think she was asleep.

  She listened as he went through his nightly routine in the bathroom; brushed his teeth, washed his face and took a leak. Jackson shed his clothes on his side of the bed. She would be the one to pick them up again in the morning as he slept on regardless.

  He slid his warm body in beside her. She faced away from him and he pressed himself up against her back, fitting his knees into the back of hers. He wrapped an arm around her waist and nuzzled her neck.

  “I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispered into her hair. “I love you so much. Why do you make me do these things to you?”

  A mixture of beer and toothpaste scented breath washed over her and the strange combination stoked the fire growing in her belly. She didn’t want him anywhere near her.

  “Hey, I’m sleeping,” she said, trying to move away.

  He grabbed her upper arm and he pulled her over to face him. Serenity tensed, her body hard and unwelcoming, but Jackson ignored the physical messages and kissed her face with frantic, hard pecks.

  “God, you’re so beautiful,” he told her.

  “Jackson,” she said, pulling her face away from his. “Not tonight. I’m tired.”

  “Shhh,” he said and put his hand over her mouth, stopping her words. Her heart picked up a beat and she tried to twist away from him. He climbed on top of her, forcing his knee between her legs, pushing them apart.

  “Jackson...” she protested, her voice muffled beneath his clammy palm. “Stop it.” The words came out ‘sho-iik’ and he ignored her. She tried to clamp her legs back together, struggling against him.

  “I love you,” he murmured, as though the three words could heal her wounds. “You know how much I love you.”

  He took his hand off her mouth and grabbed hold of her right arm, pinning it behind her head. With more force, he shoved his knee back down, bruising the inside of her thighs.

  “Jackson!” she shouted, fear tainting her voice. “I said no. Get off me!”

  She tried to push him away, but the position he held her in, with one arm above her head and his whole body pinning her down, meant she couldn’t move.

  He kissed her again, forcing his mouth on hers, mashing her lips against her teeth. His free arm reached down toward her panties, trying to pull them aside.

  Fear raced through her. Would he do it? Would he actually rape her? Jackson was free with his fists, but he’d never stooped so low.

  “For fuck’s sake, Jackson,” she yelled. “Get the fuck off me!”

  For a moment, she thought she’d got through to him, he’d listened to her for once, but then she felt the unnatural way he lifted off her.

  Jackson flew away from her, leaving her half-naked and exposed on the bed. He soared backward through the air and crashed into the dresser on the far wall, opposite the end of their bed.

  He hit the unit with a sickening crunch and slumped down to the floor, groaning.

  Frightened, Serenity sat up, pulling the sheets around her.

  “Jackson?” Tentatively, she called her husband’s name and tugged the sheets tighter around her body. Adrenaline sent blood rushing through her ears, her eyes pricking with tears of fear. What the hell just happened?

  She climbed off the bed, taking the sheets with her, and approached her spouse as she would a wounded wild animal. “Jackson? Are you all right?”

  He groaned again and clutched at his lower back.

  Serves you right, you fucking bastard, came a spiteful, bitter voice in her head.

  Jackson’s eyes flickered, the whites showing unnaturally bright. For a moment, Serenity thought he would pass out cold, but then he bolted upright, his eyes darting back and forth, scouring the bedroom.

  “Someone was in here,” his voice broke. “Someone grabbed me and pulled me off you.”

  She shook her head in confusion. “There’s no one else in here, Jackson. It’s only us.”

  Bravado deflated, his shoulders hunched, his eyes wide. He was as scared as her, but Serenity knew from experience—a scared animal was also a dangerous one.

  “No. Someone else was here, someone grabbed me. I felt his hands on me. I felt his cold, fucking hands on me!”

  Cold hands, she remembered. Cold hands and soft, pale skin.

  No. It couldn’t be possible! Nevertheless, Serenity found herself looking around the room, half-expecting to see her stranger materialize out of thin air. She caught herself. That was crazy. There was no way someone had gotten in and out of the room without either of them seeing.

  Serenity’s face betrayed her; her guilt flickered across her features.

  “Who is he?” Jackson demanded. “Some guy you’re screwing? Have you let another man in here?”

  Her eyes widened with fright, but again the stranger’s face appeared in her mind like a subliminal image on a television screen.

  The memory made her pause too long and Jackson seized upon her silence.

 
“You have!” he said, incredulous, as though he never truly believed her capable of an affair, despite his constant accusations. “You little whore! You’ve been seeing someone else!”

  It wasn’t a question anymore but a statement.

  She shook her head, desperate. “No, no, I haven’t. I swear to you.”

  Jackson’s injuries prevented him from leaping across the room and strangling her. A lump the size of an egg protruded from the back of his head. Reaching up, he tentatively touched the bump. He pulled his hand away, fingertips dark with blood.

  The sight of the blood threw him off his rant. She could always rely on Jackson to put his well-being ahead of everything else. “I need to get to hospital,” he said. “I’m hurt. You need to call an ambulance.”