The child rounded the corner of a boarded-up arcade, the front nothing but dense, heavy darkness. His feet slapped the uneven sidewalk, and Susan closed in. Nearby, the jangle of calliope music rang out loudly, but out of tune.
The boy turned back to her once more, eyes wide and wet, and then slipped between two high-rise hotels.
“Wait, kid,” she called again.
She was close enough to snatch the back of his shirt, and then she had him. He was a fast kid—as fast as a Deathwalker.
“Why are you…”Her words died on her lips when he turned to her again.
Teeth bared, he had that wild look in his eyes.
He smiled at her with small, milk-white fangs that protruded from his top jaw. A thin line of bloody drool unwound from his plump, cherry-red bottom lip.
“Oh, hell,” Susan muttered, her stomach falling.
She turned, too slow. The butt of a rifle connected with her temple, and she was out.
chapter forty-one
She awoke to see the little boy’s face hovering before her. He smiled, beautiful and terrible, revealing his baby-white teeth.
He ran to a tall man. “She’s waking up. Look,” he said, tugging on edge of the man’s shirt.
Susan ached all over. There was a stereo playing somewhere—Charlie Mingus, she thought, but she wasn't sure. Unable to move her neck, she felt as stiff as a case of whiplash. Her lips stung, and her jaws and teeth hurt where a leather strap gagged her, tearing sharply at the corners of her mouth. A chain bound her wrists and pulled them high above her head. Her toes barely brushed the concrete floor.
It appeared to be some kind of strange warehouse, massive with a high, arched metal roof and tall windows, all covered with layers of tinfoil, applied carefully so that no light from the outside could penetrate. All sorts of oddities that seemed to be castoffs from the beach’s tacky tourist trap heyday cluttered the place—carnival horses, Technicolor monsters covered in a blanket of dust from the house of horrors, props and displays that evidently came from the wax museum. George Washington still stood in command aboard the little wooden boat, but the Potomac had become a trash-strewn floor. Blackbeard, devilish and wild with a cutlass in one fist and a disembodied head in the other, stood in another corner. There was what first appeared to be an upright coffin with a black lacquer finish and a silver pentagram painted on the front, but she quickly realized it was some kind of magician’s box.
It smelled of dried blood, decay and stale popcorn—an extremely foul combination.
Through the clearing fog, she tried to recall what had happened. How did she end up there?
"You're awake. Finally."
A heavy German accent. A tremor of fear raced up her spine. Kasper Jacobsen, the so-called vampire killer. She struggled against her restraints as his steps grew closer.
She tasted blood on the back of her tongue. Kasper moved in front of her, and she could finally see him. He was big, broad-shouldered, and powerful looking. He wore a tight black t-shirt that showed off the muscles of his chest. He would have been intimidating if she were the same woman she had been a month ago. Amazingly, she smelled fear on him.
She smiled behind the rough leather strap.
"Michael was certainly right about you," he said. He eyed her up and down as if she were some sort of prize, and then disappeared behind her. How did Michael know this animal? Susan twisted around, not wanting to let him out of her sight, but he grabbed a handful of her long hair and held her head steady.
Kasper’s hot breath tickled the back of her neck, making her shiver. He reached around her, slipped his warm hand under her shirt and rested it on her stomach. He nuzzled the side of her neck with his mouth, the stubble on his chin scratching wickedly. Susan struggled, but the bonds held her tightly. She took the opportunity to look up at the chain that held her so tightly in place. The cuffs at her wrists were thrown over a big, industrial-sized hook. It was not impossible to escape, if she could only get up high enough to slip the chain free. If she had been feeding properly, she might have been able to leap that high. Malnutrition had made her physically almost…mortal.
Kasper pulled her closer to him; she could feel the heat radiating from him in waves. The little boy took a seat on the back of one of the carnival horses, a winged Pegasus with the tips of the wings chipped away. He watched intently, but said nothing.
"Now, I am going to remove the gag," Kasper told her, "provided that you will not try and bite me."
He untied the leather belt and pulled the gag away—sweet relief. She flicked out her tongue and licked away the blood that was drying at the corners of her mouth. He moved back in front of her and touched her bruised lips with his fingers, a surprisingly gentle gesture.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "You don't deserve this. Michael didn't deserve this. That kid. None of us deserves this shit.”
He moved to the black magician’s box and flipped a latch on the side. The narrow door opened slowly and revealed a horrified woman inside. She blinked at the sudden light and then stepped out apprehensively.
In the stark and shadowy warehouse lighting, Susan saw that the woman was thin and hard, and obviously a prostitute. Nobody would miss her. She might have been pretty under other, better circumstances. As it was, life had worn her down and worn her out. She wore her long, brittle hair piled up high on the top of her head. It was dyed the color of blood, and maybe that was what had caught Kasper’s attention in the first place. Her makeup was too heavy; eyeliner had settled into the fine lines around her eyes, making her appear even more tired than she probably was, and her lipstick looked a hell of a lot like a brownish oil slick. Her leopard-print tights had holes, and her shirt was too low-cut for the weather.
“She’s gonna be extra,” the woman told Kasper, throwing a quick glance at Susan. Her accent was mountain flat.
Kasper smiled as shyly as a child. Susan knew that trick; she and Devin had used that many times, themselves. “No. She just wants to watch.”
“Oh? Then, what about the boy?”
“I don’t think so.”
The whore grabbed the front of Kasper’s shirt. “Just need ‘im to learn something, then?”
“You said you’d pay me for getting her to follow,” the boy said. He hopped off the horse’s back and moved to Kasper. He tugged at the big man’s shirt again. “You said you’d let me feed—”
Kasper shoved the boy back, sending him to the floor on his skinny ass. “Behave, little thing, or you’ll pay sooner rather than later.”
The whore watched this, eyes wide, but she only said, “Okay. What’cha want?”
***
Because of the chains, Susan couldn’t avoid seeing what was happening. She felt dirty and wrong and exhilarated, all at the same time. A notion wriggled inside the depths of her mind like fingers picking a scab—what was she doing? What horrible thing had she become? Again, the answer came—I was never normal in the first place.
The woman and Kasper were like animals. Their movements were rough, callous and wild. It was a purely physical act, by two beings who appeared to loathe each another. The woman knelt between Kasper and a brigade of paint-peeled carousel horses. Kasper slipped into her mouth, and she took his entire length effortlessly, expertly. He pushed against her, easily at first. From the boulevard, music rose—the Stones mingled with some jazz and created some weird mélange of sounds. Kasper sang along softly and very out of tune.
Susan’s eyes were riveted to his movements, his lean buttocks and how his thrusts quickened. The muscles flexed. He lost the rhythm of the song. All around them, the stench of wet garbage hung low like a noxious cloud. The whore’s breathing became labored.
Susan glanced at the boy, who was now back in his seat on the horse. His eyes were huge, and his hand moved quickly inside his tattered jeans. His sharp little fangs protruded over his rosy bottom lip.
Kasper slammed harder into the woman, his hands gripping huge snatches of her hair, pulling it down and ruinin
g it. Then, there was a dull THUD as her head smashed against the side of one of the horses, upending it. It tumbled, and the others followed like a group of multi-colored dominoes. He pulled her toward him again, and she gagged loudly. Susan no longer wanted to see this, but she couldn’t stop herself. Kasper shoved the whore’s head back, still grasping her hair, nearly flinging her away from him.
Finally, with one hand in her hair and the other behind her head, he pulled her against him once more and held her fast. She was choking, struggling, but she was going nowhere until Kasper decided.
Kasper grunted as he came into her mouth. When he was finished, he shoved the woman backward and sent her tumbling onto her bottom. He glanced back at Susan and zipped up.
The woman struggled to sit up, dazed and blinking slowly, stupidly. She touched her bleeding mouth—Kasper’s zipper had slashed her bottom lip. She ran her tongue out and licked a drop of blood away. Kasper stepped closer to her. “Come,” he said, putting out his hand. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
The whore cowered and tried to scramble away on her ass, but the carousel horses blocked her movements. “Get away, you animal. You monster.”
Susan found her voice, but it was not because she felt for the woman. Kasper and his oafish ways disgusted her.
“Get away from her, you self-righteous prick!”
Kasper turned to Susan. Smirking, he stalked toward her, his fists clenched. “You think I asked for this?”
“Did any of us ask for it?” Susan countered.
He wanted to hit her; Susan could read it in his eyes, and she braced herself for it. Instead, he turned his attentions back to the whore.
“You. Do vampires frighten you?” he asked the woman.
“Y-yes.”
He snatched her up by her hair, and she screamed. “Why the fuck are you here, then?” he cried.
“I didn’t know. At first, I-I didn’t know you were one. I couldn’t tell.”
He pulled her face to his. “Can you tell, now?”
She shrieked, and he loosened his hold on her hair. “Shhh.” He traced his finger around her lips, rubbing away the thickening blood. “Shhh,” he told her again, his voice instantly soft, his gestures transformed back into those of a lover. “Be a nice girl, and I’ll let you leave.”
She kissed the tips of his fingers, licking her own blood away from them. Slowly, he slipped his index finger across her lips, past her teeth, then his middle fingers.
“That’s the way,” he cooed.
Susan could no longer see; Kasper’s wide back blocked her view. Suddenly, there was a hideous wet, ripping noise, followed by a loud snap, the sound of bony joints becoming dislocated.
There was no scream, only an odd, nightmarish gurgling. Susan squeezed her eyes shut and buried her head against her arm.
When she looked again, Kasper was coming toward her. In one hand, he held the prostitute’s head, unhinged from her lower jaw and body. Her eyes blinked once, twice, before staring as blank as those of a doll.
“Look, you bitch. Look and see what’s coming.” With his other hand, he took Susan’s face in his fingers, squeezing her cheeks until she tasted blood, and tears ran from the corners of her eyes.
Impulsively, Susan tried to back away, but her tethers held fast. The cuffs bit into her wrists, and blood began to run down her arms.
Kasper thrust the bleeding edges of the whore’s torn jaw at Susan, pushed it against her mouth as she struggled to turn away. She had seen so many horrors, but nothing compared to this. She felt her stomach contract and loosen. She wretched, dry, painful.
The blood touched her mouth and for the first time since her transformation, she found it repulsive. The scent was sickening, the metallic taste horrid. She spat into Kasper’s face, and he wiped it away with a wicked smile.
“Fucking hypocrite,” she said, snarling.
“Fucking bitch,” Kasper replied casually. Then, he held the head above his upturned face and allowed the slow stream of blood to flow into his waiting mouth.
chapter forty-two
The old man emerged from the shadowy hallway just as Michael entered the house.
“I had hoped she would be here with you,” he said. “Then, at least I would know that she was safe.”
Michael jumped and instinctively raised the gun. “What do you want? How did you—“
The man held up the slip of paper with the house number scrawled on it in Michael’s handwriting. “I didn’t come here to hurt you, Michael,” he said. “I’m John, by the way.”
When he moved out of the darkness, Michael could see him better, the look of worry, of sleeplessness on his face. Michael realized he was no monster, only a man. He lowered the gun and tossed it onto the sofa, but he couldn’t ease the tension the man’s presence created.
“She hasn’t been here,” Michael told him. “I assumed she must have changed her mind.” He moved away from the bigger man. “Or else, was detained.”
“I wouldn’t hold her captive, if that’s what you’re indicating.”
“She came to Charlestowne of her own free will, then?” Michael asked.
“You must realize, Michael, she was never happy with you.” John smiled. “Only tolerant.”
John’s eyes drilled into his, and he looked away. “You know Kasper Jacobsen. Do you have any idea where he might be keeping her?”
“No.” Michael sank down onto the sofa and pressed his face into his hands. “You think Kasper has her?”
“She’s not with Devin. She’s not here. Things don’t look very promising, do they?” John said, his tone softening as if he was searching for reassurance.
“No. No! She would have found a way to escape. She’s way sharper than you could imagine. And, Jacobsen is an ass.”
“He is that,” the man agreed. He walked around the room slowly, his eyes not leaving Michael. “Look at you. You’re in over your head here. You’re shell shocked; I’ve seen that look before. I ought to kill you for this, this stupidity of thinking she would ever want you again after the change.”
Michael shook his head, suddenly furious. He started to say something, but the older man suddenly rushed at him. He grabbed the back of Michael’s shirt and yanked him off his feet. With unexpected ferocity, John drove him backward against the brick hearth. Michael’s head thudded hard, sending stars dancing before his eyes.
“I ought to drag you out onto the streets and let them take care of you in any manner they see fit.”
The man was amazingly strong for his age. He wrapped his long fingers around Michael’s throat and squeezed, cutting off Michael’s breathing.
“It wouldn’t be pretty, Michael.”
He slammed Michael back against the bricks once more and then let him go. Michael doubled over, hands braced on his knees, and gasped for sweet air as John backed away.
“You listen to me, Michael. I’m only letting you go because you love her, and maybe you can help find her. So, get to work.”
***
Susan didn’t know how much time had passed. There was no way of determining if it was day or night because the windows were blacked out. The boy had gotten his payment and had fed on the hooker’s leftovers. He had gone at the heavy breasts enthusiastically, tearing the rosy nipples away from the graying, cooling body. He had drunk until he sank to the floor beside the decapitated corpse and slept like an infant, curled into a small ball.
Kasper stalked around like an angry cat, fists clenching and unclenching. He stood in front of Susan for a moment and whispered, “Do you think he will come for you?”
“Is that what you really want, Kasper?”
“Yes.”
“Then you want to die.”
Kasper laughed. “Perhaps.”
Later, an explosion startled Susan from a paper-thin doze. She screamed, then hated herself immediately for being so weak. She jerked her head around to find Kasper holding the stubbed shotgun.
The boy lay on the floor, but something wasn
’t right with him. At the angle in which he lay, she could no longer see his pretty head.
Could no longer . . .
Sickness and despair overwhelmed her, and if she hadn’t been bound, she would have collapsed.
“What have you done, Kasper?” Her voice sounded as if the wind had been kicked out of her.
“Only what I am supposed to do, Susan.”
“He was a child,” she whispered.
Kasper stepped around the sprawled body, treading through the expanding pool of blood and leaving red, boot-shaped stamps on the concrete. Above his head, a naked light bulb swung back and forth lazily; thick blood splatters were cooking on the hot glass.
“What gives you the right to do these things?” Susan asked.
Kasper frowned deeply. “What gives you the right? You’re no better, you know.”
Susan sighed and rocked her head from side to side. Her neck and shoulders felt as though molten lead had been injected into her muscles. She glanced up at the chain binding her wrists. If she only had a way to get closer to that fucking hook.
“Devin and I are better. What we do is rid the world of the dregs, the scum that have no business living anyway.” Then, smiling, she added, “Like you.”
Kasper closed in and raised the gun. He pressed the barrel against her cheek. Still hot from the shot, it sizzled against her skin. She drew back, her teeth gritted. The odor of charred skin filled her nostrils.
“So, you’re doing God’s work.” He pulled the gun back slightly, and Susan sighed in relief. “Just as you said, we are only doing what we are supposed to do.”
“So am I, sweetheart. Death should not mean new life as some kind of fucking animal. You—we—are abominations. God never meant—“
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