by Leo Romero
Vincent eyed the wooden floor. He knew he shouldn't take Leviah's word as gospel, but something deep down told him he was actually telling the truth.
His very bones ached with the pain of loss. "I loved her," was all he could say.
"Yes, yes, Slayer. Like you loved all the rest."
Vincent remained silent. Whether true or not, he knew he couldn't give Leviah what he wanted. Never, no matter how much he might hurt, no matter how much Leviah may torture him, he had to deny, had to hold out for as long as possible.
"Are you going to tell me where it is, Slayer?" Leviah asked. "Or do you want your pain increased to unimaginable levels?"
"Do your worst, Leviah. It still won't be anything near the hurt I've suffered." He searched the wooden floor with sullen, drowsy eyes. "You may as well destroy me," he said in a depressed voice. "I have no knowledge of this relic you seek and I have nothing left to give to this world. So, just put me out of my misery."
Leviah stared at his nails as he contemplated. "Hmm. Interesting proposition." He then faced Vincent and shook his head. "No. I think I'll sit and bask in your suffering for just a while longer, at least until I've finished this bottle." He picked it up by its neck and waved it on the air with a grin.
Vincent stared at the air ahead of him, a deep depression overwhelming him. His muscles had knotted from the discomfort of the hard chair he was tied to. His limbs ached, as did his heart and head. There was nothing, nothing left. Trixie was the last. He didn't even care about the relic any longer. Maybe Leviah was right; the human species didn't deserve salvation. Maybe it would be best for this beast and his siblings to ally with their grotesque father once more and destroy the planet and all life upon it. After all, they'd just be killing themselves at the same time. Then, there'd be nothing left and everything could start again. Maybe that was the plan. Maybe these creatures were just part of the cycle, they are the cleansing phase the earth and life had to go through every now and then to keep things running smooth. Maybe he was just interfering in Nature.
He raised his head, the bones in his neck twinging. He winced as he laid eyes on the hubris-filled beast in the recliner, sipping on some poor soul's blood. And as he did, he couldn't help but feel hatred and ire toward him. It was as if it were built into his system to hate these creatures. Even in the depths of despair, his instincts still burned. And maybe that was his role; maybe he was part of Nature. The force that would stop these things. Maybe he was the cleanser, and it was down to him to trigger the cycle.
But then he thought of Trixie and Dom again and his heart began to bleed. His head dropped down and he just waited, resigned to his fate. Waited for the moment when the torment would mercifully end.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The Loop was just getting into full partying mode by the time they reached it. The bars were filling, the streets abuzz with revelers. It meant Dom and Trixie could hide in amongst the rabble with ease. They didn't want any Order agents recognizing them and blowing the lid on their fake deaths. They didn't want to hang around longer than they needed; just grab what they were looking for, then scram.
They slunk by a bunch of backstreet bars and nightclubs, the sound of muted music rumbling the sidewalk, neon lights illuminating the paving and bricks in a synthetic glow. Trixie turned back to Dom. "There's a few places he might be," she said, watching the street ahead from behind her shades. "Seedy nightclubs, alleyways, but I'm guessing tonight is ladies night." She stopped outside a strip joint with gaudy music and a ton of neon. A raven haired girl in a leather BDSM outfit and black lipstick was stationed outside, attempting to draw people in with offers of free drinks.
Dom looked the place up and down. The name over the doorway read: Whiplash. He cringed. He reached out and grabbed Trixie by the shoulder. "Wait," he said to her. "Vamps going to strip joints?"
"A perverted vamp? You bet your ass. Although technically, Troy isn't a vamp. He's chock full of venom from all the jabbing he's had, yeah, but he's right at the tipping point before you turn, straddling the line between human and vamp. So, he gets the perks of both worlds. He doesn't need to drink blood, but he's got fangs. Go figure. He can't stand sunlight, but he just loves the ladies."
Dom stared at the blue neon lights. "Christ, that's messed up."
"In some respects, they're as bad as us, and we're as bad as them," Trixie stated. "Thing is, in a place like this, you can't tell who's a vamp and who isn't."
"I'll look for the bite marks," Dom quipped. His spine was already tingling hard. The place had vamp activity all right. He shivered.
"Come on," Trixie said to him, grabbing his hand.
Dom glanced down at their hands. "What is this like a date or something?"
"Just shut up and act normal."
"Normal? What's normal about this place?"
"Hi," said the girl in the BDSM outfit as they approached. Dom stared at her pierced face hard, trying to ascertain if she was vamp or not. "Ladies get in free," she informed them.
"That's great, isn't it, honey?" Trixie said to Dom with a grin.
"Huh? Oh yeah, that's just dandy," Dom replied with a forced chuckle.
The girl handed them a flyer. "Show this at the bar for a free drink too."
"I'll do that," Trixie said, taking the flyer.
"Have a nice time," the girl said.
"I'm sure we will," Trixie replied before leading Dom through the entrance.
Once inside, Dom shook his head. "Hey, what if he isn't in here? Are we gonna go to every club in the Loop?"
"Troy is a creature of habit. And a pretty predictable creature at that. I'll guarantee he's here."
"I hope you're right, this place is freaking me out already." Dom stared at the various sculptures and paintings surrounding them. Bodies intertwined in acts of pain, people being whipped, stomped on. Hey, if they love stuff like this so much how about getting chased by a bunch of mercs? Now, they'd totally dig that.
They reached the ticket booth where another goth in black leather took money from Dom but none from Trixie. After that, Dom was frisked by the bouncer with the tats and piercings, while they laid off Trixie. Christ, she wasn't joking when she said it's ladies night. With a rueful grin, Dom walked hand-in-hand with Trixie through a black curtain and into the main club area. They now found themselves on a balcony that led down to what Dom could best describe as a torture chamber. The ambiance was dark, concealing what was going on in all the booths lined up along the walls. The music was a vicious and loud strain of thrash metal; it grated on Dom's ears like razor wire. On the dance floor, bodies were writhing, heads were in necks, the buzz of venom in the air. Beyond that was a stage where various acts of simulated torture and domination were taking place. A gagged chubby guy in a diaper lay on his front while a dominatrix dug her heels into his back. Another gagged guy was bound to a chair, while a slim blonde chick was suspended from the ceiling, receiving light whips from a creep in a leather mask.
Dom shook his head. "Where the hell am I?" he asked in mystified repulsion.
"Chicago," Trixie answered. "Great huh?"
"Frickin' A. Let's hurry up and get out of here."
"Okay okay," Trixie said as she scanned the club from the balcony. Ahead of the stage, a bunch of guys were seated, watching proceedings, their mouths frothing.
Troy was there at the front, waving a wad of money on the air like he was in Vegas.
Trixie rolled her eyes. "Bingo," she said. "He's here." her voice was tinged with disappointment.
"Yeah? Where?"
"At the front. I told you he'd be here."
"What now?"
"Wait here, I'm gonna go talk to him."
"Careful," Dom said to her back as she turned and headed for the steps leading down to the main floor. Dom leaned on the banister, his eyes fixed on Trixie as she made her way over to the stage.
Trixie kept her stare on Troy. He was still waving cash like a buffoon. Luckily, there was a spare seat next to him. She made a b
eeline for it before anyone else got there. As slick as warm oil, she slid into the chair unnoticed, while whipping her concealed dart gun from her belt. Good job they don't frisk ladies here.
"Glad to see you put the money I give you to good use," she said into Troy's ear.
Troy's head whipped around, his face a scrawl of shock. "Trixie!" he exclaimed, concern buzzing in his eyes.
"Surprised to see me?"
"No!" He blurted, then calmed a little, but his hands still trembled. "No, Trixie, in fact I'm glad to see you. Very glad in fact." He put on a twitchy grin.
"I'll bet you are." Trixie had a quick look around. She was met with freaks either lounging or dancing, minding their own business. She then turned back to Troy. "Listen, Troy, I've got a dart gun loaded with fast-acting poison right up against your crotch."
Troy's eyes widened. He flicked his head down. His eyes fell on the dart gun aimed at his crotch. He gulped.
"Now, if you don't do what I say," Trixie continued, "I'll pull the trigger and send you to Hell."
"You wouldn't do that, would'ya, Trixie? Not after all we've been through?"
Trixie's top lip curled. "Just try me, Troy."
Troy flinched. "Okay, what is it you want, Trixie?" he asked in a panicked voice.
"I want to talk to you about what happened at the movie theater."
"What happened? Did you kill the dreg there?"
"There was no dreg, Troy. Only an entourage of Blacklake to meet us."
"Blacklake?"
Trixie nodded. "Hmm-hmm."
Troy gave her a wide-eyed, innocent stare. "Well, that's a surprise to me, Trixie. I was informed otherwise--" Trixie shoved the muzzle of the dart gun into his crotch and he yelped. "I swear, I swear!"
"Take a walk, Troy. Nice and slow."
"Where we going?"
"I'll tell you when we get there."
Troy gulped again. "Whatever you say, Trixie," he said with a grin, his fangs prominent. A shiver crawled across her back. Troy rose to his feet in slow motion, replacing the wad of money into his pocket and slicking down his greasy hair. Trixie stood too, ensuring her dart gun remained a threat without being noticeable. Troy straightened his cracked leather jacket and turned to face the steps. He then began walking toward them.
Trixie moved in closer. She dug the muzzle into the small of his back, staying right behind him all the way. "No funny moves, Troy," she warned in his ear. "I'll shoot and leave you for dead."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Troy responded.
"I doubt you still dream, Troy. You probably lost that privilege long ago."
Troy made it to the steps, the sadomasochism continuing around them unabated. He climbed them one at a time, Trixie his shadow. On reaching the summit, Dom came to meet them.
"You brought the grunt too?" Troy sneered. "How cute. Hey maybe we can make it a threesome. What d'ya say, grunt?"
"My name's Dom. And I don't play with scum like you."
Troy shrugged. "What's his problem, Trixie?" he asked over his shoulder.
"Maybe he doesn't like almost getting killed cause of liars."
"I don't know what you mean," said Troy.
"Just move," Trixie ordered.
Troy slicked his hair again before he got moving. They walked single file, Dom first, Trixie taking the rear with Troy sandwiched in between.
They made it past the ticket booth and the weird paintings and sculptures to the entrance. They stepped outside onto the street where the BDSM girl was still lounging. "You three have a good time!" she said with a wicked grin.
"Oh, we will," Trixie said. "Won't we, Troy?"
She jammed the dart gun into the small of his back and he grinned. "Oh yes, we will," he said with a fake grin.
The BDSM girl smiled and turned away to a fresh set of weirdoes.
"Keep moving," Trixie ordered in a stern voice.
Troy huffed. "Can you tell me where we're going?"
"We got a surprise for you," Dom said over his shoulder.
"I don't like surprises," Troy answered. "How about you just tell me what it is."
"You'll like this one," Dom said as he pulled out his cell. "Yeah, we got him," he said into it. "We're on our way."
They led Troy through various streets till they reached the waiting Sun van, its engine running.
Dom went and opened the back door and got in. Trixie shoved Troy toward it.
"Get in."
Troy stopped, glanced inside, and then back at Trixie. His face was riddled with apprehension. "I suffer from travel sickness."
"That's your bad luck. Move!"
Troy huffed. He reluctantly climbed up into the van. Trixie shoved him the rest of the way, and then followed up, closing the doors behind them.
Dom tapped the back of the driver's seat. "Let's go," he said to Miranda Wolff, who got the van moving through the streets.
They pulled up outside one of the Wolff's caches; a small lock up close by the Loop. Miranda stepped out of the van and looked around, puffing on her e-cig. A stray dog had its head in a nearby trashcan. A couple of crickets were chirping in the thick grass behind them. Above them all, the full moon bathed the area in a cool blue glow. Miranda put away her e-cig as she went straight up to the door of her cache. She unlocked it and pulled the door upward; it went with a hot, sharp rasp.
Trixie was already out of the van, her dart gun still aimed at Troy, who was crumpled in a heap on the van floor. "Come on. Out," she ordered.
Troy slapped his knees in frustration before climbing out of the van. Once his feet touched concrete, he looked about him. "Discreet. Nice," he said with a nod. "You do realize if I don't report back to the Order they'll send a search party for me."
"Don't flatter yourself," Trixie retorted, fishing something out of her pocket, "the Order could give a damn about you."
Troy muttered something under his breath.
Trixie dangled the thing from her pocket on the air. "Here. Put these on."
Troy stared at the pair of blue goggles in Trixie's hand with a confused frown. "Sorry, babe, but you know I can't swim," he said.
"They're not for swimming."
Dom stepped out of the van and threw the door shut behind him. "Put them on," he urged.
Troy turned to face him. "Are you the boss now, cutie pie?"
Dom stepped up to him. "Yeah. So, put them on or I'll order her to kill you."
Troy huffed, straightened his jacket, and then reluctantly reached out for the goggles. He took them, stared at them for a second, then strapped them to his face. He looked up at them both. "How do I look?" he asked, his hands out to the sides.
"Better than before," Trixie quipped.
"So, what is this place?" asked Troy.
"We call this place 'The Salon'," Trixie told him. "Now get inside!"
Troy turned his head to be faced with Miranda standing in the open doorway. She curled her hands inward, ushering Troy toward her.
Troy just stared.
"Move, Troy!" Trixie demanded, poking him in the back with the muzzle of her dart gun.
Troy threw his hands in the air. "Okay, okay," he said, exasperated, before he got moving. He stepped up to Miranda, who cleared the way, exposing what was being kept inside the cache. Troy stopped and stared at the thing in bewilderment. As he did, Trixie grabbed his forearm and slapped a pair of cuffs around his wrist. Troy yelped.
"No offense, babe," Trixie said, pulling his free arm toward her and cuffing his wrists behind his back. "We just don't want you running off anywhere."
Before Troy had a chance to respond, Trixie shoved him fully inside. Dom followed up, pulling the door down closed behind them all. Everything went silent, bar the humming of the overhead fluorescent light.
"Righteo, let's get this thing fired up," Miranda said in a casual voice as she stepped up to the big, long white thing in the middle of the floor. She grabbed the middle of it and threw it open. It came apart like a sandwich, the top half remaining upright. Runn
ing along the inside of it were long, gray bulbs.
Troy stared at it in confusion. "What is that?"
"A sunbed," Dom responded with a grin.
"A what?" Troy exclaimed, his eyes twinkling with concern. "Where the hell did you get it?"
"Industry secret," Miranda replied as she twisted dials and pushed buttons on its side.
"Lie down," Trixie ordered.
Troy licked his lips, quick and nervy. From behind his blue goggles, he stared at them all in trepidation.
"It's okay, Troy," Dom said. "It isn't switched on yet."
"Okay. What is it you want from me?" Troy asked.
"I told you. We're gonna have a little chat," Trixie reminded him. "You tell us what we wanna know and everything will be just fine and dandy."
"But tell us any porky pies," Miranda began.
"And you'll be grateful we gave you the goggles," Trixie finished.
"You people are nuts!" spat Troy.
Dom nodded. "Of course we're nuts. We hunt vamps. You gotta be a bit nuts to do that," he stated with a grin.
"Now, lie down," Trixie said. She aimed the dart gun at Troy's head, her face stern.
Troy stared at them all one at a time. His head then dropped. He took a small, tentative step up to the sunbed, wary of it like it was a shark in the middle of the ocean. He licked his lips as he stared at the bulbs. "Is this thing plugged in?" he asked.
"Yep," Miranda answered.
Troy whined. "Come on. Let's cut a deal. If you let me go, I'll tell the Order that you all died and that they don't have to worry about you any more. How's that?"
Trixie shook her head. "No deals. Lie down. Tell us the truth."
Troy groaned. He turned and sat down on the sunbed, acting like he was about to sit on a giant cactus. His butt touched base and he winced. He sat there looking glum.
Trixie went and tapped him on the knees with her dart gun. "Legs up."
"Legs up," Troy muttered in a childish voice, mocking Trixie as he lay back and swung his legs up onto the sunbed in an unenthusiastic fashion. He made himself into a thin line, his scared eyes darting left and right behind his goggles.
