by Lumi Laura
CHAPTER 9 An Unfortunate Encounter
The next evening, Alex put on a long skirt and went out wearing the cross inside her blouse. She thought to herself, If these tits don't quit growing, they'll become a nuisance. She wanted to find her two friends, Jaklin and Mikhail. She couldn't suppress thoughts of smooching with them. Perhaps if she could just see them again, her recollection would loosen it's power over her. Memory does embellish the spell, she thought. And then there was the influence of the cross. She recalled that Catalin had advised her to stay home at night, but now she imagined that it would protect her from all harm.
Alex was again surprised to learn that she'd become fond of the dark and felt that it was her friend. She enjoyed its subdued hues and hidden secrets. She even noticed a sense of being a predator and relished the act of seeing but not being seen. She hid in the shadows, moved covertly among the bushes, lurked at the edge of visibility. She hid behind trees in Dimitrie Ghica Park and spied on young lovers practicing dry sex in the shadows. She was a shade, shifting among misty nocturnal shapes.
Her heightened senses caught a foreign scent wafting among that of pine needles and humus, the faint body odor of a man. She played with this smell, letting it roll around in her nostrils as something new, exotic. She thought it came from someone in front of her, but the breeze had subtly shifted. She heard a shuffling behind her, and started to turn, but quite suddenly, he was upon her. The fear that flashed inside her was not panic. Although he was a large man, she knew she could break free, or at least she thought she could.
She didn't cry out, but he was bigger, much bigger, and stronger, much stronger, than she'd first thought. One arm, he planted around her waist and the other hand he held firmly over her mouth and nose. Not only could she not scream, she could not breathe. He made no attempt to keep her upright but fell on her, taking her breath. He then rolled her over and spread her legs, pushed up her skirt and ripped her panties. He was in sweatpants and had them down in an instant, but as he did so, Alex broke free. She was also stronger than either of them realized, but he had her by the ankle and dragged her back to him. With the other foot, she kicked him in the chest, and again rose to her feet, then faced her assailant front on and hit him with her fist square on the nose. He grabbed her again with a grip that was overpowering and shoved her up against a tree. Now, he was between her legs. His lips sought hers again, and Alex smelled blood from his nose. She'd broken it, and the taste was startling. Fresh human blood, something sexual about it. He mouthed her, found her lips, but she bit him, again drawing blood, until he pulled back. He cursed her, and finding her pelvis with his erect phallus, entered her.
The violation, splitting pain and blunt-force trauma became an explosion of hatred. He was hot and stank. As he pushed deeper, Alex exploded with rage. No longer was she the victim, and the taste of blood was the fuel that set her ablaze. She wrapped her legs around him, drew him even deeper inside her and tightened on him until he cried out. She clawed at him, ripped though his shirt and into his flesh, raking her fingernails into him.
She leaned back, took in the full view of him, his eyes wild with ecstasy, and then she drove her head into his neck, sunk her teeth into his flesh, and for the first time felt hot human blood gush into her mouth. He cried out again, not from having his pleasure, but from pain. He tried to push her away, but her legs and arms were locked around him, as if she'd grown to his body. Her teeth chewed for the juggler, found it, fondled it with her tongue. As she gnawed it in two, her tongue wrapped around it, and she sucked it loose, and like a large straw, she had access to the entire pool of fluid filling him. As his frightened heart pumped spurts into her mouth, so she sucked, gorging on his life as her pelvis beat on him, her sexual energy overflowing. He went limp. She didn't know if her eyes were open or closed, but the world exploded with light, her rapture driven into a convulsion of spasms by the man's death. The smell of his blood, the taste like cinnamon in spasmodic gulps, the feel of trembling flesh as his heart began to fail. His death, his life leaving his body, flowed into her, fueling her nonstop ecstasy.
She sucked him as her fingernails scraped against his rib bones. Her fingers dug deep, beneath his rip cage, and lacerated his liver. More, she needed more blood. All of it. Any drop that might be left in his corpse. He slumped to the ground and fell backward into pine needles, but she was still on top of him, still gnawing his carcass. She bit the other side of his neck, searching for more blood, but his body was empty, drained. She broke open his ribcage with a crack and licked the lungs, broke the heart loose, squeezed it to pump the last crimson fluid into her mouth. The light, burning in her eyes like the midsummer sun, started to fade. Her assailant was now a lifeless hunk of worthless flesh, disgusting, nasty, bloodless.
Alex rose up from him on all fours, staring off into the darkness between trees. A thought came to her instantly, without malice but with need, hunger. Perhaps another one, another body full of blood, a sack of ichorous fluid. She rose up to view her surroundings, now the determined predator, the animal with only carnal needs, the merged feelings of lust and gluttony united into one powerful compulsion.
She saw a man walk into the darkness of the trees, her darkness, her forest. He stopped and urinated on a tree, like a dog, she thought, as she moved through the forest toward him. His pants were already open, and she wanted him, wanted to plant her teeth in his neck. Like a large cat, she moved in behind him, and just as he finished relieving himself, she was on him. He'd turned toward her, just as her body collided with his, and she had him on the ground. This man was smaller, not erect. She wanted him, needed him, but he filled with terror, the sharp, sweaty scent of panic. She was much stronger, and although he tried to push her off, she clung to him. She sunk her teeth into his neck, and again the flow of fresh blood gushed into her mouth, down her throat. Never had she savored such a rich beverage.
"Please, don't kill me," he whispered. "I have kids."
Alex was in a euphoric, murderous rage and couldn't come down, but knew this was wrong. A spark of humanity returned, just the faintest glimmer of compassion. She stopped, and the man broke free, rolled away and ran like a rabbit from her, jumped the iron-barred fence and fell into the street.
Alex woke from her homicidal frenzy feeling vulnerable, hunted. She leapt from the ground, fled farther up the mountainside and into the forest, deeper into darkness, her mind still a whirr, not of murderous thoughts, but for the taste of blood. She ran among the trees.
She'd killed a man, and almost killed another.
Her stomach was distended from gorging on the two men, but her body demanded more, her flesh scintillating, tingling, sparkling with expectation. She ran deeper into the forest, moonlight creating dim patches that guided her. She needed another kill, anyone, anything. Her heart raced, pounded her chest. Her breaths were deep, strong and rapid. She licked the blood off her arms, hands. Delicious corpuscular blood. Her front was covered with it. She sucked her blouse, pulling the last drops from it.
She rousted a deer from the bushes, and chased it up the hill. It bounded and zigzagged, but she was faster, quicker. She grabbed it by the antlers, and bulldozed it to the ground. She clamped her mouth to its neck like a mountain lion, searching for the jugular. Blood gushed into her mouth, awful blood, animal blood. She spat it out, and turned loose of the trembling animal. The stag was instantly on its feet again and disappeared into the forest. She needed a human. Someone fresh.
Her pupils dilated far beyond normal. The moon went behind a cloud, yet she could still see in complete darkness. She was an owl, bird of the night, felt as though she could fly. She saw two people walking together up the mountainside. This calmed her, but still the desire for blood was overwhelming, so she slid from tree to tree following them. They looked different, something strange about them, the graceful elegance of their gait like that of the caped figure she'd seen after meeting Jaklin and Mikhail. And then she realized — they were vampires. A sickening feeling came over her. She almo
st vomited but looked away. She needed more blood, but not used blood from a vampire. That'd be like drinking urine. She needed a fresh human.
Stinking vampires. Bloodsuckers. But that's me. I'm a vampire. My cross. She felt for it. Why does it not burn me? How could this be? Did the cross not work? Was the priest right? Was it, after all, not a true cross?
Alex followed the vampires up the mountainside. She saw them disappear into the side of the cliff, as if they'd walked through solid granite. She walked to the spot where they'd disappeared and found a depression behind bushes, but no cave entrance.
She heard rock grating against rock. The depression moved. Someone was coming out. She backed away. But some form of courage told her she could handle this vampire. As he came in her direction, she hid behind a tree, and when he got close, Alex stepped out into his path. At first he was surprised but then came for her. She heard him sniff the air. She reeked of blood. Why had he not recognized her as a vampire? Alex pulled her cross from within her blouse and held it before him. He humped over in pain, hissed and retreated. She went toward him. He turned and fled down the mountainside.
Alex walked what was a much longer distance to her grandmother's home than she'd thought. Had she really run that far up the mountain? She didn't go inside. Instead, she went around back and lingered in the shadows cast by moonlight. She went to the outdoor hearth and stripped off her clothes, struck flame to them and watched them burn. The sharp smell of leather singed her nostrils. She worked over them, ensuring all were ashes. She gathered branches and sticks to add to the fire and turned the coals until her clothes, bra, socks and shoes were gone. Just the metal shoestring eyes remained. She doused the coals with water.
Though nude except for her cross and chain, she felt no chill. The cold Alex did feel ran much deeper and was that of the soul. She had killed a man and almost killed another. Her life was forever marked. She had no intention of turning herself in to the police. He had raped her. Her primary concern was what Catalin had told her. He had said, "If you ever kill anyone by sucking their blood, you will become a vampire." She was not supposed to have had the craving. Yet at the first scent of it on the rapist, she went crazy. It was the violation, pain and rage that had brought out the animal in her. No, not the animal, the vampire.
She found the garden hose, turned on the faucet, and washed herself from head to foot with cold water. Even her hair. All the blood had to come off. She no longer felt a craving, but she did feel different. Her relationship with the world had changed. She was immortal. How could that be? How could one live forever? But now she would have to feed off humans. Could she bring herself to do that, again? How strong would the craving have to be before she would violate another human being? If she did, would they become a vampire? The man who got away from her tonight, would he now be a vampire? An immortal being? And the man she killed, would he rise from the grave?
All the history of the world, the Earth, now seemed to stretch out before her. She was a cosmic creature. She'd live through centuries of human history, as had Catalin. Perhaps millennia. But he was a divine creature of the spirit world. She was still a being of Earth. What would her life be like? What did it mean to be a vampire?
Before she'd been friendless, or at least felt as though she were, but now, she was utterly alone. She needed her mother. She wanted to be held as if she were a child. She needed her father. Although this was something he certainly couldn't fix. And what would Gavril and Sonya think? They'd been her surrogate parents. She thought of Jaklin and Mikhail, two people she hardly knew, but now needed, craved, and felt less guilt over lusting after them. She felt afloat in the ocean, a thousand miles of water to the nearest shore. Would anyone care for her if they knew what she had become?
Something shifted in the darkness at the edge of the forest in the direction of the gazebo. A black shape. Was it just a moon shadow? It moved toward her. A man, the dark shape of a man. She'd seen him before. That strange caped figure, after she met Jaklin and Mikhail. She turned to run into the house, but something stronger than fear impelled her to look back. Her hand immediately went to her cross. She raised it until it came between her and the dark figure.
He stopped, folded his hands and blood dripped from them. His thin voice said, "You need me. Come, when you're ready," just a gracile line of words strung along a whisper. "I thought I'd failed." He grabbed his side and bent over.
The voice momentarily froze her. Then Alex quickly walked to the backdoor, turned to see him limp away. Something she'd done seemed to cripple him. She opened the door, stepped inside, and bolted it. She stood before the door listening, but could hear nothing.
She walked upstairs to the bathroom, ran the tub full. Remembering how Father Zosimos had examined her, she looked at her face in the mirror, pulled up her lips to expose her gums. Nothing unusual. Then she bared her teeth and made a threatening face. She jumped back from the mirror. This was not good.
As she soaked in the tub, staring blindly into the darkness, it suddenly came to her. She would never have her own children. It felt like a body blow that took her breath. She would never hold her own children in her arms, watch them grown into adults. She could never right the wrongs that had been her lot. This type of thing is supposed to happen in Braşov where legend said that Dracula, Vlad the Impaler actually, had his castle, where Gavril now lives, not in Sinaia.
She stepped dripping out of the tub, dried off, and walked into her bedroom. She slipped between the covers and slept the sleep of the dead. Except that she did dream. She dreamt of a magnificent city among the heavens. She heard the flutter of angel wings.
