Killing Kiss

by Sam Stone

  ‘We are willing to pay double for a large quantity of blood. How willing are you?’ I ask.

  Serena has trouble looking away from Lilly, her head turns to me but her eyes stay on my lover.

  ‘Gave a lot, once before ... It was good. He was ... like you two. I ... yes ... I want that ...’

  ‘Like us?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A man?’

  ‘More than that ... the real thing. You’re ‘real’ aren’t you?’

  Serena sighs; her too thin body leans into me but she slides against my hip and around me making herself more accessible to Lilly. Serena’s nose has been broken in two places and badly fixed. I wonder who or what did this to her? But it’s irrelevant. I step back. I have to let Lilly do this. It will strengthen her, make her more mine.

  The air is tense. Serena’s aura has come alive as a reaction to the blood lust. Lilly touches her and the tension soars. The air crackles with unchecked energy. I fight the urge to intrude again. Serena is clay in her hands, as Lilly moulds her. ‘No teeth. No evidence ...’ I whisper holding out the razor blade but Lilly has hers clutched in her eager fingers.

  The wrist bandage flutters to the floor and Lilly carefully opens the raw wound beneath, drawing a thin red line along the vein. Serena sighs, shudders. Arousal scents the air, drowning out all other smells, even the blood as it bubbles up and out of her wrist. I guide them both to the bed, feeling like a pimp, as Lilly licks delicately at the wound. Serena stretches out, her sharp body forms the shape of the pentagram; her face matches her name. Lilly crouches over her, and the tender licking becomes greedier as she clamps her mouth over the gape and sucks. Perspiration pops up on my brow. I am painfully stimulated by the whimpering murmurs that escape the willing victim’s lips. I look away from them both, wiping my hand over my mouth but I can’t shake the vision, so I have to look back. I feel like Victor Frankenstein watching my creature come alive. Lilly stretches out beside Serena and her chocolate brown skirt rides up to reveal her brown legs. I turn away as the tan flesh begins to whiten with every gulp of blood. The sleeve of Serena’s dress pushes farther up her arm revealing still more tiny scars in her powdery flesh. How many? Over a hundred. I begin to count them to distract myself from the vision of their bodies moulding together.

  Serena’s throat convulses. I snap alert. Lilly’s hunger is still too ravenous and Serena’s arm is bloody pulp.

  ‘Lilly. Stop!’

  I hurry forward roughly pulling at her, but her strength is shockingly equal to mine. Serena’s limbs float like feathers in the wind with every tug on Lilly’s arm.

  ‘Lilly. You’re killing her. Look,’ I say gently.

  Lilly is oblivious. Her blood lust is all she sees and all she can hear is the rapidly decreasing sound of Serena’s heart beat as the blood loses its fight to pump and I know how delectable that can be ...

  ‘Lilly. For God sake!’

  My head pounds in response to the slowing thud. I release her. Step back. We are killers. Maybe this is how it should be. She will have to learn the hard way, like I did. She will harden her heart to the death and then she and I will be truly alike. This was what I wanted, wasn’t it?

  But no. I promised her that I would not let her go too far.

  ‘No. Killing this girl will change you ... I don’t think I want that.’

  But I am powerless. All I can do is look on until the frenzy slows. As I hear Serena’s heart flow still slower, Lilly looks up at me through the bulk of blonde waves that drape over the bloody arm like a silken shroud. Grudgingly she pulls away, throwing a fleeting glance down at the pale girl. She licks her lips.

  ‘I think I went too far,’ she sighs.

  ‘Perhaps.’ Yes. She did.

  She stretches with feline beauty. New muscles shift under the surface of her bare arms and she looks at her glowing skin, her eyes widening with surprise.

  ‘How do you feel?’

  As she rises gracefully to her feet, she looks once more at Serena lying unconscious; her small chest labouring against the cheese-cloth Wicca dress.

  ‘Sexy.’ She smiles. ‘I feel, very, very, sexy.’

  Her arms are around my neck before I have chance to assimilate her words. She kisses me; her mouth tastes of blood and I pull her to me.

  ‘Lilly ...’

  I lick nectar from her tongue, lap at the teeth and gums taking away the last traces of Serena’s lifeblood. I draw her nearer, her strong body compresses against mine as she squeezes back. My heart beat feels as though it will burst my chest. She’s mine. Love and passion, not the lust, drives me as I kiss her willing mouth; but still she holds back. Pushing me away, she hurries to the door, unbolts it and lifts the curtain. A gush of air wafts in and I am left unsatisfied once more ... Will she ever surrender again?

  From the corner of my eye I see the tiny ripple of air lift and drop the papers on the bureau and I catch a glimpse of a photograph as it falls in apparent slow motion to the floor.

  On the tacky purple carpet the picture lands face up. The same limpid expression in a smaller body; a male child. I look back at the still body, the glassy eyes, Serena’s lifeless posture. I reach in my pocket for my bulging wallet and stuff the promised money into the bureau, stepping over the photograph as I walk towards the door.

  ‘I need to see my parents one last time,’ Lilly says, dropping the curtain down behind us as we exit.

  And now I know; she has changed - but is it for the best?

  Chapter 24

  A weather-beaten brass sign comes into view as we approach the wrought iron gates, which are formed into a Victorian twist design. Oakwood Lodge. It looks like a gothic insane asylum. I almost expect the sky to darken with thunder and lightning as a bizarre warning. The sun continues to shine even though the air is frosty. This is Lilly’s childhood home. It explains a lot.

  She glances at me, her expression daring me to comment but I don’t react. I have become adept at avoiding confrontation since my recent faux pas. Though she has been quiet, she has at least stopped ignoring me. All because I wanted to show her I cared; the only way I knew.

  ‘I’ve bought you something ...’ I had told her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Presents ... Things you might need ... hopefully you’ll like.’

  Lilly looked down at her bed where I had spread the wrapped gifts, and pursed her lips. She was confused for a while, not sure how to react, and this is what I had hoped for. She was out of her safety zone. I had reasoned that my seduction techniques had worked for centuries so why not now? Even so, I was nervous as she opened the first parcel containing matching boned corset and French knickers. She tore the paper open from the corners first; then froze. Her cheeks reddened. Her blush was unexpected and charming. I felt breathless and aroused. Mute, she opened the rest of my gifts, tearing viciously at the paper, like an unsatisfied child at Christmas, until every box was open.

  She stared at the wrapping strewn amidst the clothing.

  ‘I should have died ... I know that, even though you don’t wish to talk about it,’ she said slowly, but I didn’t reply. ‘And by some awful fluke you’re stuck with me. And now this ... this! Bloody underwear! Dresses! Skirts and tops that you’ve bought me. Like I’m some doll you’re playing dress-up with.’

  Her body trembled with her rage.

  ‘Lilly, I only meant to ...’

  ‘Stop.’ She held her hand up before her face. ‘I don’t want to hear it. I’m not one of your trophies, Gabriele.

  ‘No ... Never!’

  Her arm swept across the bed knocking the presents to the floor. The boxes, carefully wrapped in sparkling paper, were torn up and thrown into the corner of the room, the sheen of the paper destroyed as it was shredded and scattered all over the floor.

  ‘Please, Lilly. It was just ..
. I wanted to give you things ...make you happy.’

  I followed her as she tore through the room, wrapping grasped in her taut hands.

  ‘Make me happy? I feel like a prisoner here ... How on earth could I be happy?’

  The mess was distracting, something I was unused to. I stared at the taupe carpet, counted the scatters; scarlet, silver, gold and purple glossy scraps dotted the once immaculate room. Slight resentment for her chaotic presence surfaced and floated at the back of my eyes in harmony with a piece of pink tissue that fluttered down onto the bed as Lilly ran into the bathroom and slammed the door.

  Later she came out looking composed and calm but she pointedly ignored the clutter as she dressed for our visit to her parents, refusing to discuss it even when I apologised.

  A tingle at the back of my neck brings me back to the present. Lilly is watching me, her face relaxed, as though she has been studying me for a while. I reach out and turn the car radio on, hoping to distract her. An oldie is playing; Kate Bush, Wuthering Heights; I’ve always liked her somewhat screechy soprano.

  ‘So, your parents live here?’

  ‘It’s a school. Boarding - for “young ladies”. My father is the principal.’

  ‘Ahhh.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  She tuts. I irritate her despite all my efforts and I can barely hold back the sigh that chokes my throat.

  ‘Local news now. Last night the body of a single mother was found in a Manchester Club, allegedly frequented by cultists who indulge in the practice of blood drinking, known as vampirism ...’

  I quickly switch off the radio, though morbidly curious, as Lilly opens the car door and steps out, but she’s preoccupied fortunately and didn’t hear the news. I watch as she walks over to a small box attached to the wall supporting the gates. Her stealthy fingers tap numbers rapidly into the keypad and the gate bows, opening inwards; it creaks in protest.

  The passenger door slams as Lilly settles back down beside me. I release the handbrake, allowing the engine to pull us through the entrance and the wheels spin a little; I ease off on the accelerator, fighting the urge to speed up along the slick tarmac.

  ‘So, what have you told them?’

  ‘Not much. Just that you’ve turned me into a blood-sucking monster.’

  ‘Nice.’

  ‘Don’t worry. They’ll love you. You are exactly the type of man they’d choose to marry me off to, given the chance.’

  ‘Mmmm. Shame you can’t stand me then ...’

  Out of the corner of my eye I see her cheek twitch as she fights the smile that threatens to consume her face. I’m pleased if I amuse her, even a little; she has been subdued all through the journey here.

  I drive on as the road changes from tarmac to stark concrete; the patchy cracked driveway contrasts fiercely with the immaculate grounds. The road bends two hundred yards away from the gate and we head up a steep hill, looking up at ‘the house’. Is Norman Bates home, I wonder? The air in the car turns frosty. Lilly stiffens beside me. What have I done now?

  ‘You can park at the front ...’ Her hand trembles as she points.

  As we draw closer the house looms above, blocking out the low autumn sun - fortunately for us because it really does make Lilly uncomfortable - and the dark, shadowy windows look like eyes, blinking in unison. Even before we reach it, there is an atmosphere. Lilly’s hands clasp in her lap. The tension in her shoulders is - curious. As I pull up in front of the house I can see the animation slip away from her face and the expression that replaces it is one of blank resignation.

  Lilly tugs at her fingers as we stand at the bottom of the mossy stone steps which lead up to the impressive entrance; large oak doors under a huge marble arch. There are even gargoyles leering down from the medieval style tower above.

  ‘There’s a mixture of building styles in this structure. I can’t date it and usually I’m pretty good at that.’

  ‘You’re right. It was reconstructed in the seventeenth century from a corroded medieval castle. Since then there’ve been many additions.’

  ‘Yes. Like the gates.’

  She nods. ‘And a conservatory around the back ...’

  ‘Very modern.’

  Even her fingers look tense as she rings the delightfully corny doorbell. In modern culture don’t children usually have keys to their parent’s homes?

  ‘Dad.’ Lilly’s voice is barely audible - oddly choked - as the door swings open.

  ‘Mhmp!’

  Lilly grips my hand, which would be wonderful under other circumstances, but her nails dig painfully into my palm.

  ‘Lilly. Darling. Come in.’ A woman rushes forward, pushing aside the tall, white haired man that opened the door; she is a startlingly similar, but older, version of Lilly. ‘You’re cold.’

  ‘Not surprising in that flimsy dress.’ Her father peers down at us, disappointment oozing from his words.

  ‘It’s a lovely dress,’ her mother says, throwing a reproachful look over her shoulder. ‘Come in out of the cold.’

  Her father’s attitude inflames me, so I step forward.

  ‘I’m Gabriele.’ I offer my hand.

  He scrutinises me with flinty eyes before taking it. I smile, neutral, returning his firm grasp with a firmer one of my own.

  ‘It’s nice to meet you.’ Lilly’s mother grins, grabbing my arm.

  I allow her to pull me inside. Her frothy personality is infectious and I can see where Lilly gets her dimples. I like them on her mother too ...

  ‘It’s very nice to meet you too, Mrs Johnson.’ My best smile doesn’t reveal fangs to prospective parents-in-law.

  ‘Please come in ... and we are Juliet and Roger, Gabriele.’

  She pronounces my name with perfect inflection, ‘Gab-ree-ellee’, and I tune in to her subtle Italian vowels. ‘You are just in time for lunch.’

  We follow through a huge hallway, past two staircases that could belong in Brideshead Revisited, as a group of five girls walk through holding bundles of washing in baskets. They giggle as they look at us. The hall floor is made of old, polished wood that’s been varnished and buffed so often there are no natural grooves left.

  ‘Hi, Lilly,’ one of the older girls calls.

  ‘Abigail. How nice to see you.’

  Lilly exchanges pleasantries as the girls weigh me up; one plays with the cropped hem of her tee-shirt drawing attention to her flat pierced stomach. I look away. Perverts do not make trustworthy boyfriends.

  The dining room is brightly decorated and surprisingly modern. Above our head is an Art Deco style three branch chandelier in black; the walls are painted a subtle orange and the table we sit at is narrow and rectangle; the chair backs are tall and stiff.

  ‘I expect you two met at university?’ Roger asks, viciously attacking a slice of smoked salmon, but I don’t answer because it seems to be a rhetorical question.

  ‘This is a lovely room. It has an Art Deco influence,’ I say instead.

  Juliet looks at me, curiosity floating in her attractive green eyes.

  ‘Young men don’t usually notice things like that.’

  ‘Agatha Christie made the era quite famous,’ I point out.

  ‘Yes, of course. You are a literature student. The style of our quarters doesn’t match the house as you can see. Here at least I have a say in how my home looks ... and I love the pottery of Clarice Cliff.’

  ‘So I see.’ Behind Juliet the brightly coloured plates and ornaments line the black polished cabinet.

  ‘The express wish of the “Board of Governors”,’ Roger informs me, ‘is that the house has to be maintained with traditional décor.’

  Traditional! Old farts if you ask me! I smile as Lilly’s thoughts float in the air around us; mot
her and daughter exchange a knowing look.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Juliet asks.

  ‘No thank you. Water will be fine.’

  ‘I’m not much for tea myself. I prefer coffee. Tea is so - English,’ Juliet continues.

  I grin at her. ‘You’re Italian.’

  ‘Yes. I’m sure Lilly has told you all about it.’ I see no reason to correct her. ‘Though she has told us almost nothing about you.’

  ‘Mmmm. She’s full of secrets. I’m Italian myself.’

  ‘I thought so ... The name was a give-away, but Lilly never said ...’

  ‘Will you stop talking about me as if I’m not here?’ Lilly snaps.

  ‘Sorry,’ Juliet and I say together and we both laugh at the coincidence.

  Lilly looks from one to the other of us, frowning.

  ‘So, what do your parents do?’ Roger interrupts, clanging his fork down against the china.

  Silence. I chew on, determined to keep propriety, while Roger takes another mouthful, sloppily dropping lettuce onto the crisp white cloth. Outside a sharp scream pierces the air; I begin to stand, startled.

  ‘It’s only the girls. They’re playing Rounders, I suspect.’ Lilly slips her hand along my thigh; I shift uncomfortably, her nearness is too arousing and God, do I like it.

  Ruddy-faced Roger sits stiffly opposite me, his immaculate hands folded together as he watches us. He is a cold man, from his severe straight spine to his groomed white hair. His presence is a disturbing blur. I know he is waiting for me to slip up but Lilly and I have honed my story.

  ‘My father owns a shipping company.’ Well, I have shares in several.

  ‘And your mother?’

  ‘Dead.’

  ‘Oh, that’s awful.’ Juliet pats my hand.