Sins of the Blood: A Vampire Novel

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  God, the baby.

  He rolled away.

  "Don't stop." Her voice was slurred, filled with the drugs he had forced into her from his saliva. "Oh, Ben. Please. Don't stop."

  He got up and walked away from the bed. She stuck three fingers inside herself and continued to roll on the bed. He looked away.

  Candyce had been pretty once. He had actually thought of marrying her. But seeing her like this, her eyes glazed, her body raw from too much of his kind of sex, made him vaguely ill. She had no more control than the rest of them. From now on, all he would have to do would be to kiss her once, let her taste that saliva, and she would fuck him until she died.

  Literally.

  He had to be careful. That baby was more precious than all the blood in the world.

  Candyce cried out as an orgasm shook her. She turned her head toward him, her eyes bruised and her lips bleeding. "Ben —"

  The blood looked so tempting.

  "Get up," he said.

  She didn't stop. Another orgasm rippled through her. She licked her lips, then ran her free hand across her breasts. "Look, Ben. We'd have so much fun —"

  "No." He made the word harsh. "Get dressed. We're leaving."

  He went into the bathroom and closed the door. His body was shaking. She might be his only chance for progeny, and he had nearly killed her. Another hour and she would have been dry, the baby dead.

  They needed that child. Mikos had stressed the importance of hereditary vampires. They were the strength of the clan. They were the leaders. Like him. It wouldn't be long before Ben's strength completely overpowered Mikos.

  Ben was soft now and able to pee. The only change he really hated: the thick fluid that smelled of death and turned the water in the bowl tarry black. It had frightened him the first time, and disgusted him even now. Mikos had called it a reminder that Ben would never again be human.

  "Ben?" Candyce's voice had a plaintive note it had never had before. He sighed. He would have to get used to it. "I'm dressed now."

  He flushed and opened the bathroom door. She was dressed, wearing the same jeans and turtleneck she had worn the day before. But she didn't look like the same woman. That woman had strength and fire, intelligence glowing out of her eyes. This woman looked like she hadn't eaten in a week and like she had borrowed someone else's clothes. He had been very careless. He would have to treat her cautiously from now on.

  "Sit down and wait for me. I'll just be a minute."

  She sat and clasped her hands on her lap, as if taking his orders were as natural as breathing. Stupid cunt. Didn't she realize she was reacting to a drug?

  No, of course not, and with luck, she wouldn't realize it until long after the baby was born and she was thrown back into the bar where he had found her. Until then, he could do whatever he wanted with her, as long as he didn't harm the child.

  He put on his suit and called down for the car. Then he gathered his belongings and let himself out of the room. Candyce followed.

  He was glad Mikos had talked him into responding to Candyce's call. The trip had been a profitable one, after all.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cammie sat in her car, across the street from the Sadlers' house. Her briefcase was open, and she was rifling through it, looking for her Westrina Center ID. She knew she had brought it, but it wasn't in her purse. That meant, she hoped, it was in her briefcase. She couldn't go into that house without identification.

  The Sadlers lived on top of a large hill on the south side of town. The roads curved and wound through this section. The houses were mostly two story, modified ranch houses, built in the ’60s[C&F89] and kept up. Trees hid the homes from each other, but the neighborhoods had a suburban, chummy feel. The cars that remained in the parking lots were minivans and BMWs, second cars, most of them, in a middle class community that wanted to keep its roots and be upscale at the same time.

  Ben must have been happy here. Cammie had always wanted to grow up in a place like this. Instead, she had gone from home to home in the communities around Madison, fighting for her place among other foster children and already-established household patterns.

  Still, she had been thinking about what Eliason had said. Perhaps Ben had hurt the girl. Cammie believed, as Eliason did, that children's personalities were formed by the time they were four years old. Their father had been abusive. Ben had been three when he finally got out of the house. Maybe he had learned that pattern. Maybe Cammie's arrival would help him overcome it.

  The ID was tucked in the bottom of a side pocket. She pulled the card out, made sure the dates were current and that it read "Investigator." Then she slipped it over the generic Westrina Center card that was in her wallet, and got out of the car.

  It had been years since she wore a business suit and heels, not since her secretarial stint in college. Walking across the sloped concrete was difficult, especially since she wanted to look as though heels were her natural garb. The panty hose[C&F90] itched and the crotch had worked its way to her mid-thigh. Fortunately the sensible gray skirt went to her calves.

  The lawn was a cultivated mass of flowers and shaved grass. The faint scent of grass mixed with the rhododendrons drifted over to her. Cammie walked on the brick sidewalk, stifling a curse as her heel caught in the dirt between bricks. The carved oak door had no bell, just a gold knocker that read "Sadler." She was about to reach for it, when the door opened.

  A thin, fortyish woman with ash-blonde hair stood at the door. She had an athlete's body—she probably ran every day—and her face glowed. Only the shadows beneath her eyes marred the healthy effect. She wore tight blue jeans and a white silk blouse.

  "I'm Cammie Timms from the Westrina Center." Cammie pulled out her wallet and flashed her identification. The woman studied it with a surprising intensity, considering that Cammie had made an appointment with her before she left Madison.

  "Come on in," she said. "I'm Donna Sadler."

  She backed away from the door and Cammie stepped inside. The interior smelled of bay candles underlaid with an odor of wet dog. Odd. She hadn't heard any barking. After being attacked by a German Shepherd on one of her early runs, she was always cautious of dogs.

  The small foyer opened to a staircase and a living room on the left. The house was immaculate. Magazines were scattered around for effect. Flowers from the yard stood on the coffee and end tables as well as the fireplace mantel. The furniture—a sofa, two love seats, and an overstuffed chair—was cream and rose, its color scheme enhanced by the flower arrangements around it. A stereo hid in a cabinet beside the fireplace. No television. The living room had to be for guests and for show. There had to be a den somewhere else—and it had to be a lot more comfortable.

  Mrs. Sadler led her into the living room. Her movements were quick and nervous. "I took the liberty of brewing some French Roast. Would you like some?"

  "Please." Cammie stood in the center of the room, uncertain about where to sit. Mrs. Sadler brought a silver coffee set over on a silver serving tray. Bone china mugs and two matching plates completed the look. In the center of the tray, a lemon tea cake had been neatly sliced. Mrs. Sadler set the tray down, sat on a love seat, and immediately poured the coffee. The fresh scent of the blend was soothing.

  Cammie put her briefcase down and sat on the sofa across from Mrs. Sadler. Cammie sank into the thick cushions—the comfort a surprise.

  "I've been expecting you," Mrs. Sadler said. "In fact, I was surprised it took you people so long to respond."

  Cammie froze as she reached for the coffee cup. She made herself follow through with the movement, taking the delicate cup and saucer and holding them over her lap. "I'm sorry?"

  "Well." Mrs. Sadler set a piece of tea cake on each plate, then picked up her own coffee cup. "I sent the first letter right after Ben disappeared, almost six weeks ago."

  "I'm sorry, Mrs. Sadler," Cammie said, "but I'm not familiar with any letters. I came out here because we had seen the newspaper articles about Ben's disap
pearance. We thought that we should follow up."

  "I guess there is a first time for everything." Mrs. Sadler sipped her coffee. She still hadn't met Cammie's gaze.

  Cammie stiffened. "Ma'am, are you unhappy with the Westrina Center?"

  Finally Mrs. Sadler looked up. Contacts floated on her gray pupils, supported by too much tearing. "I wasn't until Ben disappeared. You people stayed in the distance, offered support where you could, and never interfered. But when I wanted your help, you didn't give it. And from what I know, it's not the first time."

  Cammie's hands were shaking. She had to set the cup down to keep it from rattling. "I thought you hadn't contacted us before."

  "I hadn't." Mrs. Sadler broke a piece off her tea cake and wiped the powered sugar topping on a napkin. "But a number of other parents had. In the same situation. When they saw that Ben was adopted, they contacted me because they wondered where we had found him. When they heard about the Westrina Center and the fact that no one had responded to my letters, they told me that was normal."

  Cammie frowned. "I don't understand. You're saying that there are other missing children?"

  "Not children," Mrs. Sadler said. "Adults. That's why the police didn't get involved for forty-eight hours, and I assume why the Center won't help either."

  Cammie hadn't expected this. It was odd. She picked up her briefcase, opened it, and took out her notepad. "Could you give me the names?"

  "Better yet," Mrs. Sadler said. "I'll give you copies of their letters." She got up and walked down the hallway behind the stairs. Cammie made herself breathe. Ben was not the first Westrina transplant to disappear. How odd. Too odd. Or maybe not. She had no idea how many adults stopped communicating with their families after college. Perhaps these adopted parents just worried more than most.

  The French Roast tasted as rich as it smelled. She broke off a piece of her own tea cake and ate it. The cake was light, the lemon not too powerful. She had eaten half the piece by the time Mrs. Sadler came back into the room.

  She gave Cammie a packet of letters. Cammie thumbed through them and found some dating back five years. She frowned. "None of these people have been found?"

  Mrs. Sadler shook her head. "None of them. And the Center did nothing to help any of the parents."

  "May I keep these?" Cammie asked.

  "They're copies," Mrs. Sadler said. She ate the piece of cake she had broken off previously, then took another sip of her coffee.

  Cammie put the letters in her briefcase. She closed it, leaving the notebook on her lap, and then picked up her own cup. She felt as if they were little girls who didn't like each other, trying to have a tea party. Only she did like Mrs. Sadler. The woman's determination and obvious affection for Ben impressed her.

  "Let's go back to you," Cammie said. "I would like to know as much about Ben as I could."

  Mrs. Sadler softened. "He was three when he came to us, you know, and very frightened. At first, he couldn't even sleep at night, but after a while he calmed down. He was such a sweet little boy—quiet, never complaining. He did his homework, had nice friends, and graduated at the top of his class. He was very determined. Whenever he set his mind to something, he accomplished it. We were so proud of him. We thought he was going to do great things."

  Cammie took another sip of coffee, making sure she remained calm. Ben was quiet because she had trained him to be that way and he never complained because their father wouldn't listen anyway. Their father believed that babies, after they were fed and changed, needed no other care.

  Mrs. Sadler took another bite of the tea cake. "He started to change in college. He didn't visit or write often, and when he did, he would stay out all night and party with his high school friends. They had never done that in high school. He was always irritable, and toward the end, his grades started to slip. If the slip had started any sooner, he wouldn't have graduated with honors."

  Cammie finished her coffee and set the cup down. It sounded suspicious to her, but she had found that over the years she tended to suspect everyone of hiding something. "Teenagers often go through phases like that."

  Mrs. Sadler nodded. "I married Gary in one of those phases. Fortunately it was the right choice." She pushed back a strand of hair. "I would have thought nothing of it if Ben hadn't stopped caring about what I considered to be Ben sort of things."

  "What do you mean?"

  "He was always considerate. Not just polite, but really kind. If he saw someone having trouble getting comfortable in a chair, he would bring over a pillow. If a homeless man needed money, Ben bought him coffee and a donut and then gave him five dollars. He was kind."

  Cammie's hands had turned cold. "He stopped being kind?"

  Mrs. Sadler's eyes flashed. "He stopped being considerate. He would still be polite, but he wouldn't do that extra thing. He wouldn't look at people any more. He didn't seem to care about them."

  "Did he do drugs?"

  Mrs. Sadler shook her head. "I thought of that first." She smiled. "I'm a product of the ’60s[C&F91] , I guess. But he was intellectually clear and always bright-eyed. He didn't even drink much, if at all." She looked down at her hands. The fingernails were well manicured and covered with light pink polish. "I even searched his room and found nothing. At his age, I wouldn't have survived a search like that."

  She may not have known where to look or what to look for. Drugs changed across generations. "Did he have any new friends?"

  "Some college buddies, but they weren't close. They never came here, even though he was only going to school across town. No. He got into trouble with his old high school friends—boys who had never been rowdy before. And then there was Candyce."

  The soft tone of Mrs. Sadler's voice alerted Cammie. "Candyce?"

  "They were dating for a long time. Then one night, she said he hurt her pretty bad." Mrs. Sadler rubbed her hands on her jeans. "I wouldn't have believed her if it hadn’t been for the bruises all over her arms and on the side of her face. Her mother says Ben raped Candyce, but Candyce doesn't. She said they were having fun, and then he changed, got real angry and hurt her."

  Cammie sighed and looked away. She had to stand up. She couldn't sit any longer. "Before Ben came to you, he lived in an abusive household. Perhaps he learned some of those patterns—"

  "My Ben would never hurt anyone!" Mrs. Sadler said.

  "You just told me that he did."

  "Candyce said he did. I never talked to him. He disappeared the next day."

  "He disappeared?"

  Mrs. Sadler shrugged. "He never came home that night. Then when Candyce's mother contacted me, I got worried. I thought maybe—" she looked down, and adjusted the tray— "maybe he had done something and run away. Or maybe something else happened. Maybe Candyce was lying and someone else hurt her and Ben tried to defend her." She sighed. "I just don't know."

  Cammie walked to the window and peered out. More flowers covered the back yard, and a garden took up the left corner in front of the fence. On the right side, an ancient swing set rusted against a backdrop of tall trees. An elderly dog lay underneath the weathered picnic table near the back door. "What do the police say?"

  Mrs. Sadler wrapped her arms around her chest, hugging herself. "They say that there's no evidence of wrong-doing, except by Ben, and that he ran away to protect himself. I get the feeling that if Candyce prosecutes, they'll try harder to find him."

  Cammie touched the curtain. It was satiny and soft. From all appearances, Ben had had a home here. He certainly hadn't wanted for anything. Maybe something had happened, something unexpected, something Candyce wouldn't talk about and Ben couldn't talk about.

  "I would like Candyce's address and phone," Cammie said, "as well as the names of those high school friends you had mentioned. I would also like to talk with your husband. When do you expect him back?"

  "He'll be here tonight," Mrs. Sadler said. "You could come back about eight."

  "I will."

  Mrs. Sadler got up without looking a
t Cammie and hurried into the other room. Cammie returned to her briefcase. She picked up her notebook. Only a few notes. Candyce —> disappearance was in the center of the page and circled. The other notes had bits of Mrs. Sadler's story and the few names she had mentioned.

  "Here." Mrs. Sadler handed Cammie the names and numbers on a sheet of notepaper labeled in bold Mind Your Own Doggone Business. Cammie suspected that Mrs. Sadler didn't even see the irony.

  Cammie tucked the paper beside the letters in her file and then put her notepad inside. "Thanks," she said. "You've given me a place to start."

  Mrs. Sadler nodded. "I know I…" she looked around as if the flowers in the room might aid her. "I know I seem ungrateful, but he's been gone so long now and everyone acts like it's normal. It's not. He wanted so much. He was going on to law school. I actually thought maybe he would be in politics or go on to become a famous lawyer. And now all that seems to be gone." She bit her lip before adding softly, "I'm so afraid for him."

  Her eyes teared and her nose turned a delicate shade of pink. For a brief moment, Cammie thought Mrs. Sadler was going to cry. Cammie didn't know how to act if Mrs. Sadler cried. Was she supposed to pat her shoulder? Hug her? Stand there in mutual embarrassment?

  Then Mrs. Sadler sniffled and smiled a brave little smile. "Maybe you can help him. I keep thinking that someone from his past will find him and hurt him, you know? But how could they? He was just a little boy, without anyone to love him."

  Cammie felt her face heat. "Even then," she said. "People loved him."

  She spun and walked through the narrow foyer. Mrs. Sadler held the front door as Cammie left. "I will be back later," Cammie said, unable to keep the coolness from her voice.

  When she reached the car, she got in and leaned her head on the seat. She had loved him. Everyone seemed to have forgotten that. She had loved him so much that she had done the unspeakable to save him. That had to count for something.

  I keep thinking that someone from his past will find him and hurt him.

  No. Cammie wouldn't hurt him. She had come here to help him.