The Vengeful Vampire

by Marissa Farrar

  Desperately she shook her head. “It’s a mistake,” she begged. “Please, Jackson, I’ll sort this out in the morning. Someone must have made a mistake.”

  He finally looked up and studied her face. His brown eyes bored deep into hers as though he saw straight through her, reading every single thing etched on her mind.

  Why now? She had been so close, so damned close.

  “Don’t lie to me, you little bitch.” He spat the words in her face.

  She backed away, her lower back hitting the metal of the sink. “Please, Jackson, please…” she whimpered, cowering against the onslaught of blows sure to follow.

  I can’t do this again! I can’t let him do this again…

  “I’ll teach you,” he stepped toward her. “I’ll teach you what happens to bitches that lie to me in my own home.”

  As if someone flicked a switch in her head, all of the fear turned to anger. She wasn’t going to let him frighten her any more.

  “I’m leaving you!” she screamed. “I’m leaving, you son of a bitch!”

  Her words stopped him for a moment, made him stand up straight, astonished. Then a smile spread across his face and he started to laugh, a full bodied, belly-ache laugh, doubling him over and leaving him red in the face.

  The fire burned inside of her, an anger so strong she could barely see. That the idea of her leaving him was so ludicrous made her furious.

  Jackson managed to get a hold of himself. He stood up straight, a smile fixed on his face, though it didn’t reach his cold eyes.

  “You stupid, fucking bitch,” he said, shaking his head. “You could never leave me. You will never leave me.”

  Blind with anger, panic and fear, she squashed herself up against the sink. She reached back, scrabbling around in the metal bowl, trying to find something to protect herself.

  Her fingers closed around cold metal and she threw herself forward, screaming, her mind blank. She wanted everything, all the pain and torment and fear, to stop! She lunged at him, swiping with the hand holding the metal object.

  There was a strange sinking sensation and a resistance against her arm. Then the resistance was gone and Jackson fell to his knees, clutching at his throat. Blood spurted everywhere.

  What was happening? What the hell happened?

  She’d never seen so much blood; it covered her arms, splashed across her chest, but Jackson was worse. Blood spilled down his chest like an apron.

  Her mind detached itself, as if she watched everything from someone else’s point of view.

  Oh God, what have I done?

  Jackson reached out toward her, his bloodied hands grasping for her throat. Paralyzed with shock she stared, waiting to be strangled. He only managed to hook his fingers around her silver ‘S’ chain, eyes looking up at her with a mixture of confusion and fear.

  Then the paralysis broke and she gave a little shriek of fear and leapt away. Her chain broke in his hold and he looked at it dumbly, hanging off his fingers, as though not understanding where the jewelry had come from.

  Slowly, Jackson slumped to the floor, the knife sticking out of his throat. Not thinking, she reached out and pulled the blade from his skin with a deep sucking, slurping movement. Jackson’s eyes went blank.

  Serenity dropped to her knees and screamed.

  Around her, the air moved, but Serenity didn’t notice. In the next moment, Sebastian stood beside her.

  He stared in shock at the scene before him.

  Serenity’s husband lay dead on the floor. His glasses skewed half off his face, blood smeared across the glass. More blood pulsed weakly from a gaping hole in his throat. The sight of the blood stirred the dark part Sebastian tried to keep hidden and he clamped down on the instinct, not wanting to lose control.

  Blood slicked the kitchen floor and Serenity knelt in the middle. As Sebastian watched, the knife she held dropped loosely from her fingers, hitting the floor with a clatter.

  Blood covered most of her torso; all down her arms, all over her clothes.

  As though she had only just seen the blood, she held her hands out in front of her and let loose an ear piercing shriek of madness.

  “Serenity?” he said, gently touching her arm.

  She jumped at the contact and twisted around to face him. Her eyes focused on him, but no recognition lit in their dark depths. She blinked twice and then took a short gasp of breath before bursting into tears.

  Serenity threw herself into his arms, clinging to him in desperation.

  “What have I done?” she cried. “Oh, God, what have I done?”

  “Shush,” he soothed her. “It’ll be all right.”

  “He wouldn’t let me leave. He wouldn’t let me go.”

  Sebastian gathered her up in his arms and she clung to his neck like a child being carried to bed. She buried her face against his skin, hiding from the horror spread out on the floor beneath them.

  Serenity shook violently, her eyes glassy with shock.

  “What have I done?” she asked again. “Oh, God. What have I done?”

  As though she were no heavier than a doll, he carried her up to the bathroom. Reaching into the tub, he turned on the showerhead and waited for the water to run hot. Shifting her from one arm to the other, he removed her bloodied sweater and jeans.

  Sebastian shrugged off his own overcoat and boots, pulling them off with his free hand. He stepped into the shower, fully clothed, with Serenity in his arms. Hot water rushed over them, taking with it the blood and tears, the guilt and shame.

  She clung to him like a child.

  When the water ran clear, he stepped out of the shower and wrapped her in a large cream towel. Her dark hair was plastered to her face, her skin ashen white.

  As he carried her to the bedroom, Serenity lay limp and unresponsive in his arms. Carefully, he laid her down on the double bed and she curled up in the fetal position, crying silently. Tears poured down her face, soaking the pillow beneath her head.

  From the midst of the shock, the sensible part of her somehow broke through. “I need to call the police,” she said. “I need to tell them what I did.”

  “Okay,” he whispered, but turmoil halted his actions. It would be her word against the law, a battle rarely won.

  The silent tears suddenly turned to loud, wretched sobs, and she turned away, burying her face in the pillow.

  “I don’t want to go to prison,” she managed, her voice muffled. “Not for him. Not for that son-of-a-bitch.”

  “You won’t,” he said, unsure if he believed his own words. “The police will see what he was doing to you. A half-decent lawyer will easily mount a defense.”

  “What proof would they have?” she asked through her tears.

  “There must be hospital or doctor’s records?”

  She laughed, an empty sound. “He was too clever for that. He never did enough to get me admitted. He hit me just enough to cause pain without me needing to get medical attention.”

  Sebastian reached over and held her hand, grounding her. He opened his mouth to speak, and then paused. He’d always been careful not to get involved in human lives.

  But he couldn’t stop himself, “What if I can make it look like this never happened?”

  She stared up at him, eyes bloodshot, as if she barely dared to believe what he offered.

  “You don’t have to involve the police,” he said. “I can get rid of the body.”

  “I don’t want to go to jail, but I killed him. I should be punished for what I’ve done.”

  “You’ve been punished enough. Would anyone miss him?” he asked. “Would anyone be asking after him?”

  Serenity pushed herself to sitting and wiped her face.

  “I don’t know. He doesn’t have any friends. He spends his life on that damn computer.” Guiltily, she corrected herself. “Spent his life.”

  “So what if I can make it all go away?” he said. “Put your stuff back in the closet and pack his instead. I can make sure his credit cards are
used in another state, a long way off. It will look like he left you.”

  Her face glimmered with hope for the first time. “But how do you know how to do this stuff? What are you, mafia or something?”

  “Let’s just say, I’ve had to make a lot of people disappear.”

  As soon as Serenity drifted into sleep, Sebastian turned his attention to the job at hand. He’d come to the house to say goodbye to Serenity, to tell her he needed to leave now that Madeline had found him again. The last thing he expected was to find a murder scene.

  Back in the kitchen, Jackson’s face had taken on the strange waxy complexion of the dead, his eyes blank and staring. The blood surrounding him had begun to congeal, turning from bright red to a thick, black tar. From experience, Sebastian knew when he started to clean the blood would smear as red as before.

  Sebastian held himself partly responsible for the man’s death. Though he felt no sorrow at the passing of someone who didn’t deserve to be alive, his distress stayed with Serenity. He never wanted her to be in this position and now, with a single act, she would be a different woman. He wished he’d stepped in sooner, had done something to help her instead of lecturing the whole time. Who the hell did he think he was, trying to tell her how to live her life? He told her to leave her husband and when she tried, she’d been forced to kill him.

  Guilt and torment radiated through him.

  He had done this, he was responsible. He should have walked away when he was given the chance. His presence in her life would only bring Serenity pain and yet he’d pursued her.

  Sebastian vowed to somehow make things right with her again. By removing every trace of Jackson’s murder from her home, she would be free of her violent spouse with no repercussions.

  Then he, Sebastian, would walk away and let her get on with her life.

  His heart dropped at the thought and he clenched his teeth in an effort to suppress the emotions roaring deep within him. He had to walk away. He owed her that much.

  The sight of blood or death did not deter him. After so many years, death caused him none of the revulsion it did for humans. At least he needn’t worry about this one coming back; none of the normal protocol would have to be followed. Even so, he would dispose of this body and the chances of it ever being found were minute.

  He would clean the blood up the old fashioned way—with a good bit of elbow grease. Of course, possessing the speed and strength of a hundred commercial cleaners and knowing all the tricks to remove blood stains helped. Anything proving difficult to clean would be disposed of.

  The third and final piece of the puzzle would be making it look like Jackson had up and left. Sebastian knew of another like himself living in a small town in Utah. The vampire owed him a favor and, taking Jackson’s things with him, Sebastian would travel there once he had completed the cleanup. He would ask the other vampire to use Jackson’s credit cards around the area, making it appear as if Jackson had fled to this part of the country. Utah and the surrounding area was harsh and unforgiving country; part mountain, part desert. A place where someone could easily get lost and a body never be found.

  Sebastian would then say goodbye to Serenity and condemn himself to living the rest of eternity in love and alone.

  Chapter Ten

  Serenity woke, slowly emerging from a deep, dreamless sleep. Curled up on her side, her cheek pressed against the soft pillow. Though warm and comfortable, something pulled her from oblivion.

  Daylight from the bedroom window glared in her face and she raised a hand to shield her eyes. Why hadn’t she closed the drapes last night?

  She started to pull herself up to sitting and glanced over at Jackson’s side to check he was still asleep. The horror of last night fell upon her.

  Serenity clamped a hand to her mouth, a thin keening sound forcing its way between her lips. Nausea washed over her and she leaned over the side of the bed to heave up a small amount of bile, before dry retching until her ribs hurt.

  Her hands trembled as she wiped her mouth. She wanted the memory to be a lie, tried to convince herself the whole thing had been nothing more than a nightmare. Perhaps Jackson went out early or hadn’t come home last night. The lie failed and the truth danced before her eyes in all its multicolored horror.

  She had killed her husband; murdered Jackson.

  Serenity hid her face in her hands.

  “Oh no, please no, no, no,” she said over and over again, shaking her head from side to side. It wasn’t true, couldn’t be true. She whimpered into her hands, taking each breath in hitching, panicky sobs.

  This was all too big, too much to take. How could she live, knowing everyday what she’d done, what she’d become.

  Serenity struggled to catch her breath. Panic overwhelmed her and she clutched at her chest, tore at her throat.

  She didn’t know what to do or think. Serenity wanted to hurt herself, punish herself for her actions. She was worse than Jackson had ever been; an evil, horrible, terrible person. Her hands repulsed her. She wanted to scrape off her skin, cut off her fingers so she would never have to look at the things that held the knife. Physical pain would be better than the gut wrenching anguish clutching at her soul.

  Serenity stood in the middle of the room, turned her face to the ceiling and screamed. She shrieked until she thought her lungs would burst and the cries would ring in her ears for hours to come. The noise blocked out everything she felt, everything she had done.

  Her throat cracked and the pause provided the break she needed for the tears to spill.

  Throwing herself face down on the bed, she gulped great, shuddering sobs, tears pouring down her face. She cried until her chest hurt and her throat burned. Her nose and sinuses were blocked, her ears muffled. Serenity wept for what she’d done, for the death of her husband, for the death of the person she’d thought she was. She cried out of fear for herself and what she had become.

  You only did to him what he would eventually have done to you.

  The truth, but it didn’t make her feel any better.

  He’ll never hit you again. Never make you feel small and worthless. Your life is your own again.

  Serenity shied away from the spark of hope burgeoning through the terror and anguish. She didn’t deserve to feel anything other than the pain she was in right now and she pushed away the positive thought. Now wasn’t the time to try justifying what she’d done; nothing made murder right.

  She couldn’t mourn Jackson, however. Murdering him went beyond wrong, but she wasn’t upset over her husband’s death, just the way it had happened. How was she supposed to miss the person who’d made her life hell for the past ten years?

  Serenity hated the potential for violence inside of her; she didn’t recognize herself anymore and the knowledge scared her.

  Would she go to prison? Even the risk of incarceration was better than spending the rest of her life under the same roof as him. Perhaps, in hindsight, she should have murdered Jackson a long time ago. He never would have let her go. Whatever happened, however carefully she planned, Jackson would always have been one step ahead of her. Even if she’d gotten away from him, Serenity would have looked over her shoulder for the rest of her life, seeing his face in every man she met, wondering when he would eventually catch up with her.

  At least now, even with the possibility of prison, she was free.

  Guilt swept over her in a sickening rush. How could she think like that? As if she was pleased with herself for killing him.

  No, she hated her hand in Jackson’s murder, but she was pleased about his death.

  Serenity sniffed and wiped her face, puffy from crying. She rolled back onto her side, tucking her knees up to her stomach. Emotional exhaustion clouded her head, weighing down her limbs. Her hand strayed to Jackson’s side of the bed. She snatched it back and shuddered. Would she ever be able to sleep there again without thinking of what she’d done? Would she be able to go a single minute of a single day without thinking about last night?
/>   Suddenly, she remembered Sebastian and sat up.

  He’d been here last night!

  She found her hand clamped against her mouth again. Flashbacks of memory came back to her: blood, anger, death. It was like she’d spent the previous night hideously drunk and pieces were flooding to her in flashes.

  Sebastian! How did I forget about Sebastian?

  What he’d seen hadn’t horrified him. The sight of blood hadn’t fazed him. If she remembered rightly, he offered to help, but why? Why didn’t he call the cops? The minute he walked in on her with the knife in her hand, he should have picked up the phone. Instead, he offered to help.