by Bryan Smith
He lifted a shaking hand to his mouth and tasted dried blood with the tip of his tongue. It wasn’t as electrifyingly potent as the fresh stuff, but it did light up his senses, stilling his tremors and bringing everything into a crystalline focus. The problem was it wouldn’t last long. He needed more than a taste. He licked more dried blood from his fingers and rose smoothly to his feet.
A closer examination of the scattered body parts revealed enough information to confirm that virtually every member of the Martin family residing in the area had been present for the slaughter. Janine’s parents, Ed and Margaret Martin, sat on the sofa, their heads lolling, facial features hanging slack. Ed’s belly had been ripped open, his abdominal cavity scooped out and its contents flung across the room. Loops of intestine hung from a slowly twirling overhead ceiling fan. One of the man’s kidneys was wedged in his mouth. Margaret’s blouse was in shreds. Her breasts had been torn from her body. David began to feel slightly sick again as he cataloged the atrocities. He licked more blood from his fingers to quell the nausea.
More of Janine’s relatives were quickly accounted for. Her uncle, Bob Martin, had been reduced to a limbless torso before finally being killed. His stumps had been cauterized and his face was frozen in a mask of eternal agony. A stench of burned flesh hung heavy in the air. The torso was propped in a corner by the front door. Carol, Bob’s wife, was dead, too. Her head sat atop one of Bob’s shoulders. The rest of Carol’s distinctively plump body seemed to be missing, which was strange. Janine’s brother, Michael, was also among the dead. Except for the ragged hole in his throat, his body was mostly intact. David squinted. Or was it?
David crossed the room to where Michael’s body lay sprawled in front of the large entertainment center. The corpse was on its side, limbs splayed in a way that made it look as if he’d been reaching for something behind him when he died. David stepped over the body for a closer look and immediately gagged. Michael’s lungs lay on the hardwood floor behind him, where they’d been left after being pulled out through the enormous, ragged wound in his back.
It was all suddenly too much. David staggered out of the living room, stomach heaving as he made his way by feel to the kitchen. The first thing he saw when he got there was the open oven, which provided the answer to the mystery of Margaret’s missing body parts. Her charred remains were stacked on the oven racks. The stench of burned flesh was heavier in here and David gagged again. He started shaking again, almost uncontrollably this time, and desperately tongued the remaining traces of blood from his fingers. It helped only a little. His teeth chattered. He was freezing. He needed fresh blood and he needed it yesterday. As soon as fucking possible.
He staggered through the kitchen until he bumped up against a wall by the counter. He turned and pressed his back flat against it. There was something else he was forgetting. It seemed critically important that he remember it, more important than anything else by far.
What the hell was it?
Oh, yeah.
He almost laughed when it came to him, it was so obvious.
“Narcisa!”
Where was she?
He had to assume she was still alive. Still undead, he reminded himself. Nothing short of a thermonuclear strike could kill her (and he had his doubts about the viability of that or any other apocalyptic method). So either she was still here, lurking somewhere, playing with him, or…she’d deserted him. He didn’t know which possibility terrified him more.
“NARCISA!”
He screamed her name over and over until his lungs were burning, but no answer came. The silence taunted him and ignited fires of paranoia. Something inexplicable had happened during the night, somewhere in that gap formerly occupied by his missing memories. He recalled what she’d said at the diner about secret government units that hunted things like her. Had some shadowy X-Files-type operatives caught up with her and killed her? It didn’t seem likely, but he supposed it was at least theoretically possible. And if she’d died, was that somehow connected to the apparent resurgence of his conscience? Had the severing of their mental connection brought it screaming back to life?
Or was that just another psychological hiccup, a very strong echo of his former humanity? He certainly hoped so. Because one thing was absolutely certain. He’d done many abominable things since falling under Narcisa’s spell. All those murders…they were all real. As were the other things. The rapes and the…corpse violations. He couldn’t bear the thought of enduring existence with a functioning conscience with those blood-soaked memories swirling endlessly in his head.
He pushed himself away from the wall and returned to the living room, pausing only a moment to shudder again at the carnage all around. Then he continued to the front door, hauling it open and knocking over Bob’s mutilated torso in the process. He stepped outside, squinting his eyes against the bright sunlight. He knew it should be hot. It was a cloudless, sunny summer day in Georgia. But he felt colder than ever. At least he wasn’t melting in the sun like a vampire in some cheesy movie. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He shivered and hobbled to the edge of the porch, where he craned his head side to side in a desperate search for Narcisa. She was nowhere in sight, but an old lady out for a morning stroll was headed in his direction, flabby old arms pumping as she power-walked down the sidewalk.
David ducked back inside, slamming the door shut and turning the lock. He couldn’t risk being seen by any neighbors, at least not until he’d devised some kind of viable strategy for dealing with his situation.
He frowned.
Wait a minute…
He opened the door a crack and peered outside again. The power-walking old lady had reached the Martins’ block. She was one house away. David opened the door wider and stuck his head outside, taking a longer look around. There didn’t seem to be anyone else in the vicinity. He stepped out onto the porch again and waited until the old lady was directly in front of the house. Then he used his vampire speed to zip out to the sidewalk, slap a hand over her mouth, and whisk her back inside. A kick to the door slammed it shut again. The force of the kick sent the brass door knocker up and down a couple times. David’s teeth were in the old woman’s throat before the knocker was still again. She flailed against him with her weak little fists for a moment, but she stopped when he wrenched his head hard to one side and tore a huge chunk of flesh loose from her neck. He closed his mouth over the wound and drained her fast. When she was bone dry, he let her body drop to the floor. He felt better instantly. Everything was in perfect focus now. His conscience was quiet again. Thank fuck for that. Maybe the blood kept that at bay, too.
He smiled.
It was so good to see clearly again. So good to—
Something just at the edge of perception was nagging at him. It took him a moment to process it. Then he tilted his head as he turned toward the coffee table and peered at the basket of magazines, where Janine’s head was wedged in beneath the basket handle atop a copy of that month’s Vanity Fair.
He moved closer to the coffee table.
Suddenly his heart was beating faster—and it wasn’t just from the recent infusion of fresh blood. He hadn’t been thinking straight when he first regained consciousness. His perceptions had been off. Everything was out of whack. It was hardly a surprise that he’d jumped to a wrong conclusion.
He lifted the head out of the bag of magazines and held it up for a closer inspection. It looked almost exactly like her. Same long blonde hair, a shade so bright it almost looked white. Same delicate facial structure, including those striking cheekbones. The eyes were the same color, too, a blue as pure and breathtaking as the sky on a cloudless summer day. A day like today, in fact. It was easy to understand why he’d mistaken Lisa Martin for her older sister. Lisa was only a year younger than Janine, and the sisters’ resemblance to each other was so pronounced many assumed they were twins. A casual observer would never be able to tell them apart. But David knew Janine’s face very well. Now that his initial shock at waking up in
this slaughterhouse had waned, he could see clearly that this was Lisa’s head. A tiny, almost invisible mole by her left ear gave it away. There were other telltale factors, including a subtle difference in the size of the head, but it was that mole that really sealed the deal.
David set Lisa Martin’s head on the coffee table and did another careful survey of the living room. If he’d missed something that important, maybe there were other things he was missing. He began to tremble as he concluded this fresh inspection and was left with a single, inescapable conclusion—Janine wasn’t here. And he was just as certain she hadn’t been in the kitchen. Those had clearly been Margaret’s remains stuffed into the oven. The body shape was all wrong to be Janine.
So where the hell was she?
“Janine!”
No answer.
He screamed her name another time or two to the same result. Maybe she wasn’t here. It was possible she hadn’t been present for the slaughter. She did live here, but on occasion she would spend the night at a friend’s place.
Or, more often, at his apartment, to which she had her own key. That was it. It had to be. It made perfect sense. She hadn’t seen him in more than a day, nor would she have heard from him. Janine loved him. She would’ve been frantic over not being able to locate or contact him. She almost certainly would’ve gone to his place in a search for answers, perhaps would even have spent the night there.
There was an easy way to confirm this.
He circled the coffee table, bent over the corpses on the sofa, and fished Ed Martin’s iPhone out of a trouser pocket. He tapped in Janine’s cell number and put the phone to his ear. It rang once. Then he jumped as a familiar noise began to emanate from somewhere inside the house. He moved away from the sofa, straining to locate the sound. He passed out of the living room and stood at the bottom of the staircase to the second floor. The sound was louder here. It was clearly coming from upstairs. The dial tone continued to buzz in his ear as he began to ascend the stairs. By the time he was halfway to the second floor, the sound was clearly identifiable as Janine’s ringtone, which was a snippet of “Telephone” by Lady Gaga.
He reached the second floor landing and rounded a corner, heading fast down a hallway. There were two open doors, one to the left and one to the right. A quick toss of each room turned up nothing. He hadn’t expected to find her in either one, but he needed to be thorough. A closed door stood at the far end of the hallway. Janine’s cell had gone to voice mail and the ringtone had stopped playing, but he didn’t need to hear it anymore to know the sound had been coming from behind that last door.
David shoved Ed Martin’s phone in a hip pocket and cautiously approached the door. He curled fingers around the doorknob and placed an ear against the thin wood. Moments passed. There was no sound. Then he heard something. A muffled whimper. Heart hammering again, he tested the doorknob. It wasn’t locked and turned smoothly in his hand. He pushed the door open and saw Janine sprawled across a bed, arms splayed behind her and tied to the wrought iron headboard.
He experienced a moment of vast relief.
“Janine—”
Her eyes went wide as she saw him come into the room and she began to jerk against the lengths of rope binding her to the headboard. The gag in her mouth muffled a scream. David felt something twist deep inside his guts. The truth was unavoidable. She was afraid of him. No, more than that. Scared to fucking death was closer to it. Terror mixed with disgust. Which could only mean she’d been here the whole time, had probably witnessed his participation in the torture and slaughter of her family. There was nothing he could say to her to vanquish her terror, so he kept his mouth shut. An “I’m sorry,” regardless of how sincere, clearly wouldn’t cut it either. That twist in his guts became more pronounced as he imagined how she saw him now—as a monster.
As a horror show freak covered in the blood of her loved ones.
David moved farther into the room, leaving the door open behind him. He peered closely at Janine’s nude form. Someone had stripped her. Narcisa? Another frustrating puzzle to which he didn’t have an answer. A white envelope with his name written across the front was attached to her stomach with a strip of duct tape. Janine squealed and jerked against her bonds again as he bent over her and peeled the envelope from her flesh.
He ripped the envelope open and read the brief note.
David,
Last night was wonderful. Truly the most enjoyable evening I’ve spent with another person in many years. I’m afraid we overdid it, though. I should have told you earlier—overindulgence sometimes results in a morning after state much resembling an alcoholic hangover. I have returned to my secret place to sleep, but I have left you with a final test. I have also left a way back for you in the basement of this house. But you must hurry as it will close by nightfall.
Bring the cunt’s head with you.
Love,
Narcisa
David let the envelope and letter flutter from his fingers and drift to the floor. He had some answers now. A kind of blackout likely accounted for the gaps in his memory. He had no reason to doubt Narcisa. “Overindulgence” was a more than accurate description of last night’s dark work.
He made eye contact with Janine and smiled. “I’ll be right back. Just have to check on something.”
He left the room and vaulted down the stairs, then hurried into the kitchen and tore open the door by the pantry that led down to the basement. Ordinarily it was very dark down here and you had to tread carefully down the rickety wooden stairs. But the radiant white light made it easier than usual. He descended the stairs to the bottom and stared at the source of the light for several moments. The light was beautiful. Entrancing. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to go toward it. The light subsumed an entire corner of the basement. It danced and flickered, beckoning to him. He longed to step inside its radiance.
But he couldn’t.
Not yet.
He forced himself to retreat from the basement and hurried back to Janine’s bedroom. She squealed again when she saw him. He went to the bed and sat beside her. He put a hand on her stomach and rubbed at the sticky residue left behind by the duct tape with the ball of his thumb. She tried to twist away from him, but he pressed his hand down flat.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
She threw her head back, stared straight up at the ceiling. Tears began to spill from her eyes, staining the pillow beneath her. His conscience stirred again. This was the woman he loved. Or had loved. He didn’t really want to hurt her.
Did he?
“I’m sorry. I really did love you.”
He climbed fully onto the bed and curled himself around her. She didn’t flinch away from him this time. She was done fighting. Resigned. David sighed and relished the familiar and comfortable feel of her nude body beneath him. He closed his eyes and just concentrated on that for a while. He’d always liked the way their bodies fit together. It always felt right. Like coming home. It was just as nice now as it had ever been. He could almost imagine things were as they had been, that he and Janine were still going to have the future together they’d dreamed about.
But that wasn’t possible now.
He opened his eyes and angled his mouth closer to her throat. The sight of her steady pulse beating there made his hunger flare anew.
He was a vampire.
She was human.
There was no way to reconcile the opposing sides of that equation. Nothing to do but drink her blood until—
His brow furrowed as he thought hard.
Wait a minute now.
What if…
He didn’t know if he could do it. There was so much Narcisa hadn’t taught him yet. It could go wrong. But what was the alternative? Suddenly David’s mind was going a million miles an hour as he struggled to grasp all the implications and possibilities.
Impossible.
There was only one answer.
Go for it.
David snarled and flashed
his fangs.
Then he buried them deep in Janine’s throat and drank her blood.
* * *
Nightfall.
The last flickering rays of burnt orange leeched from the horizon. A black 2010 Volkswagen Jetta sped south down the interstate, headed for Florida. David watched the speedometer, careful to keep his speed just north of the 70 mph legal limit. He no longer feared the police, but he was determined to be more cautious from now on. About everything. He wanted to avoid any additional blackout scenarios if at all possible. And he didn’t want to tangle with the cops again just now, so soon after their latest meal at that convenience store.
Janine stretched and groaned in the passenger seat. She leaned toward him and kissed him lightly on the cheek. She whispered huskily in his ear, “Hey, sexy.”
He smiled at her. “You’re the sexy one.”
Another groan. Another exquisitely sexual twist of her body as she adjusted her position in the seat again. She was clad all in black now. Black leather pants. Black blouse. Black boots. Black belt with silver studs. Even her hair was black now, courtesy of a cheap dye job the night before. Her idea. She thought the “makeover” suited her change in lifestyle. David had to admit she looked great.
Not just great.
Hot.
It hadn’t been a sure thing by any means. He could easily have killed her. In the end, he’d just done it by turning his thoughts off and allowing instinct to guide him. It had been sloppy. He had taken almost all her blood, but somehow he stopped himself in time, ripping his wrist open and forcing her to drink the blood from his veins. And it had worked. Somehow it had really fucking worked.
