by Tony C. Skye
“Um - okay,” Caroline reluctantly accepts the terms, “Ready when you are.”
“You are impressive, earthly-one,” the being brags. He notices the girl's questioning eyes.
“No,” he smiles, “Don't write that.”
Caroline nods and returns his affection with a smile of her own.
* * *
“Hee-hee,” a child voice laughs upstairs. Victoria drops her glass of bourbon and ice on the hardwood floor.
“Dammit!”, the woman lashes out verbally. She reaches down from the dining room table and picks the glass off the floor. To her amazement it didn't shatter. She pauses to listen, but hears no further sounds.
Victoria gets up and grabs a dish towel to clean up the wasted liquor. She squats down and wipes the mess up. With the excess ice on the towel, she makes her way over to the kitchen sink and drops everything inside the stainless-steel tub.
“Hee-hee,” a child laughs behind her. The doctor gasps as she spins around to meet her house's intruder. No one is there.
“Ca-Caroline?”, the frightened woman checks her daughter's distance in the house by her semi-quiet tone, “Is-is that you, honey?”
Whenever her daughter refuses to respond, the doctor gingerly walks back to her dining room table. As she nears its space, little footsteps run away towards the front door. Victoria freezes while looking down the empty hall. As the seconds turn into minutes, the skeptical woman shakes her head and chuckles.
“Drink some more sauce, Victoria,” she blames the alcohol. The woman walks back to her kitchen. She stops by the dishwasher and unloads the dinner dishes her and Caroline used earlier. The doctor smiles. Caroline actually requested to eat Victoria's favorite country dish of peas, buttered bread, mac and cheese, and fried pork chops.
It was a wonderful experience to eat one of her favorite dishes with her daughter. She has to give it to Caroline. When she decides to do something, she does it all the way. Even if it's as simple as eating pork. Caroline ate the chops as though they were the best meat on the planet. She laughed and talked. And was a genuine delight at the dinner table.
Victoria finishes putting away the dishes, double checks the house's security, and heads upstairs to wind down with her long awaited bath.
* * *
“Human pride is only the tip of the iceberg to their own destruction,” Caroline writes the man's words. His large hands are behind his back while he walks around the small damp room. On occasion, he will stop and stare out of the window. Sometimes he looks angry, but most of the time he just smiles. Regardless of what he could be looking at, Caroline knows it isn't hindering his speech. Her hand is starting to cramp from all of the writing.
“Humans have this uncanny ability to rationalize the irrational and vice-versa. They will perceive an event occurring in our realm, but are quick to rationalize it away as something in their realm. This self-trick of theirs is one of our greatest weapons against them.”
“What humans do not understand is that when my kind becomes active in what we refer to as a hot-zone, our actions will be seen in their realm.”
The man pauses and laughs. Caroline's skin crawls from the unnatural tone. But she refuses to show any fear to the man of her dreams. Nobody's perfect. She knows that. And besides, it's just a laugh.
“Even those so-called paranormal investigators deny what is in front of them. They ask their ignorant questions. We answer to see the looks upon their faces as we reveal ourselves. Then they stutter and stammer around like babbling idiots. No game plan at all. Just ignorant questions and foolish ideas about who we are and what we are. The best one of them all is when they tell us how we should be acting in their presence. Now that's hilarious.”
The being stops and turns away from the window. Caroline looks up as she finishes with his last statement. He smiles his boyish grin.
“Caroline, my love. Can I ask you a question?”, the man stares kindly.
My love? Oh gawd. He does like me like that.
“Of course,” she attempts to sound professional in hopes of hiding her nervous excitement.
“Come to me,” the handsome man waves his right hand to signify his permission, “Leave that boring stuff on the chair.”
Caroline places the paper and pen where directed as she stands. She walks the short distance over by the window. Her heart thumps quickly while her green eyes remain fixated on the man before.
“Do you love me as much as I love you?”, the being throws out her desire in front of her. He takes her smaller hands within his strong long fingers.
“Y-yes,” Caroline answers. Her breath seems non-existent.
“Caroline, my love,” the man pauses to clear his throat.
His soft seducing tone fills her body, “Would you have me in your house?”
“It's your house, too,” Caroline references their enormous castle.
He smiles his boyish grin and slowly puts his right hand over her heart.
“Would you have me in your house,” he corrects lovingly.
Caroline smiles with understanding. He is asking if she will love him completely.
“Yes,” she says happily.
“I want to hear the words with your beautiful voice. The sound you make when you speak fills me with warmth I have never thought possible,” the man coaches.
“Of course, I will have you in my house,” Caroline ignorantly commands.
The being glances out of the window and grins. He grabs Caroline's shoulders violently. She tries pushing away, but the larger man is too strong. Caroline screams in agony as the man shoves his face into her chest – tearing away flesh. Tears stream down her cheeks with the crushing pressure against her.
Caroline screams out again as her chest cavity gives way. The man's left hand releases her shoulder and joins with his head into her open cavity. The teen's blood pours down her belly onto the damp floor below.
* * *
“Hee-hee,” Victoria jerks awake and sits up in her bathtub. The child's voice sounds as if it's in the room with her. She yanks her left arm away from the tub's edge. Three red scratches are on her forearm.
“Oh gawd! Make it stop!”, Caroline screams throughout the silent house. Victoria jumps out of the tub, swings the bathroom door open, and runs down the hallway to her daughter's room. She quickly turns the knob and enters.
Caroline sits in her bed. She is soaked with sweat.
“What's going on?!”, Victoria questions frantically.
“Nightmare,” Caroline explains breathlessly.
“You sounded like you were dying.”
“I thought I was,” the girl holds her sheet against her chest.
Victoria stares blankly.
“Mom?”, Caroline slows her breathing.
“Yes?”
“You're nude,” Caroline states the obvious, “And it's kind of grossing me out.”
“Right,” Victoria backs out into the hallway and shields herself with the door, “Sorry, I was in the tub. You sure you're alright?”
“Fine,” Caroline answers, “Just a dream.”
“If you need anything, let me know,” Victoria instructs. After Caroline nods, Victoria closes the door. She heads back to the bathroom, shuts the door behind her, and places her shaky right hand over her open mouth.
* * *
“You're so beautiful,” Mandie observes with envy.
“Says the woman with the perfect body,” Tamara counters as her right hand receives the blue bath towel offered by the short girl. She pats her face dry and then wraps the towel around herself.
Tamara steps out onto the bathroom floor. Mandie grunts while fastening her custom blue-metallic bra in place. Her genuine discomfort inspires a grin from the taller girl.
“It looks like my car,” Tamara scrutinizes the bra's coloring.
Mandie pulls up her matching panties, slips her expensive blue dress over her body, and winks.
“Lasagna sound alright?”, Mandie asks while turning and walking out of
the small bathroom.
“Sounds great. I'm starved,” Tamara answers before closing the bathroom door. She turns and stares at her reflection in the mirror.
What are you doing? You're not a lesbo, idiot.
Tamara sighs within her frustration.
You're one confused puppy.
She opens the overnight bag Jennifer gave to her. The cheerleader reaches in and returns with a bottle of fingernail polish remover. Reaching back into the bag, Tamara Hillary Stilliard grabs her blue-sparkly nail polish. She grins guiltily.
* * *
“What do you think?”, Mandie asks while sitting across the table from Tamara.
Tamara swallows, takes a drink of Mt. Dew, and nods her head.
“It's really good. Who taught you how to cook?”
“I taught myself. Had to,” Mandie's tone reflects a hint of sadness.
“What do you mean? Rich people don't usually cook for themselves,” the blond counters her claim.
Mandie cuts the lasagna on her plate with a fork, “My parents died when I was younger. And I hate not doing things for myself.”
“I'm sorry,” Tamara consoles, “That must have been really hard.”
Mandie shakes her head with the fork of lasagna approaching her swollen lips, “Don't be. It was a lifetime ago.”
The two girls sit in silence for a few minutes. Mandie decides to break the awkward growing tension.
“No secrets. What's on your mind?”
Tamara sighs regretfully.
“We need to talk,” the cheerleader opens the dialogue between them. When she receives Mandie's permission within her green eyes, Tamara lays everything out in the open.
“This complicates my life,” she begins, “I have a boyfriend and you're supposed...”
Mandie finishes when Tamara struggles to say the words, “I'm expected to be a Tamara's Submissive in the morning.”
“Yeah,” Tamara confirms while staring at her lasagna lying on the plate in front of her.
“Tamara,” Mandie quietly speaks, “I am not here to complicate your life. Our roles at school will not change. I fully understand the social-pecking order.”
Mandie rolls her eyes playfully as Tamara looks up.
“As for Jason Deveraux,” Mandie continues, “I cannot tell you how you should feel. Nor would I. But I will say that if you choose to walk away from what we have started, then I will have no ill feelings towards you. I am not like that. I’m not made that way.”
Tamara begins to speak, but Mandie interrupts her before she can use her lying tongue to let her down easily.
“Tamara Stilliard,” Mandie gazes deeply into the cheerleader's brown eyes, “You have given me more than I could have ever hoped for. You confirmed my assessment of myself was true. And that is something even a rich girl can't purchase. To pay someone to do what you did naturally would be faked and leave me unfulfilled. And I still wouldn't know. But because of our time together, I do know.”
“Dammit, Mandie,” Tamara scolds, “Why do you have to do that?”
“Do what?”, Mandie responds, “You mean not lie to you?”
“Yeah,” Tamara's tone carries a touch of defeat within it.
Her life's social responsibilities cause her to defy what is in front of her, “So you won't be angry if you see me with Jason, or if you have to park on Submissive's Row?”
Mandie smiles comfortingly to release Tamara of her guilt, “No, Tamara. We both have our roles to play in this life. We each must figure out what those will be. You can't choose who I will be, what I will do, or where I will go in this life. And I can't do any such thing for you.”
Tamara sits against the chair's backing as she marvels after the woman's words. The girl with dark hair has done it again.
“You're either the coolest person I've ever met, Mandie with an i-e,” Tamara speaks, “Or you really are crazy. I can’t figure out which.”
The cheerleader pauses before arching both brows, “You sure you're okay with this?”
“Yes. I expected your life to continue as is,” Mandie answers while watching the girl across the table taking another bite of her lasagna.
“But I do need to say something else.”
Tamara nods.
“Your blood covenant is broken,” Mandie confidently reveals.
* * *
Chapter 7
When Tomorrow Comes
“Living dead girl... ooh - ah!,” Rob Zombie's song begins its hypnotic driving beat. Julianna closes her eyes. With her arms raised above her head, Julianna's wrists crisscross one another. The girl's full hips sway back and forth like a cobra hypnotized by its enslaving oboe. She spins one full circle and opens her eyes with a smile. Her arms slowly lower down in front of her as they weave in and out with each other.
“I'm not used to your generation's choice in music,” Martha speaks over the library's loud volume. The red hair woman grins. Her granddaughter lives. And she must admit, although not her first choice in what she would consider to be music, there is a bittersweet irony to the song's lyrics.
“It's not my generation,” Julianna corrects, “But I like it.”
Julianna's white full body cleaning outfit matches the cleaners and Martha's own uniform. She looks up the ladder's runs before making her climb. When she reaches the top, she begins dusting the highest bookshelf.
“You've become quite the expert at this,” Martha speaks loudly.
“I oughta be,” Julianna answers with the same loud volume to her voice, “I've had enough practice.” She doesn't notice her gram's brief smile as she moves the feather duster to the bindings on the books within her reach.
Martha, Julianna, and the carefully hand-picked cleaning crew finish their day with dusting, window cleaning, vacuuming, mopping, and some laundry. After Martha calls Frank to escort the cleaning crew out of the house, she and her granddaughter strip off their uniforms.
“Your schooling is coming along splendidly,” Martha reports, “Your tests scores were great. You're on your way to being a senior.”
“Really?”, Julianna answers with excitement.
“Yes,” Martha responds delightedly.
“Radio off!”, Julianna hollers out. The room drops into silence when her command is recognized by the library's voice detection system. She grabs her grams with a big hug.
“Thank you.”
“You did all the work, dear.”
“I couldn't have done it without you, grams,” Julianna says as she takes a step back, “They're your test scores, too.”
“No dear,” Martha counters, “You old grams couldn't turn out scores like that.”
“You’re not old,” Julianna lovingly criticizes Martha's last statement, “Stop saying that.”
“Come on. Let's get a bite to eat,” Martha silently yields to her granddaughter's request as she begins to walk.
“That's what I thought,” Julianna claims victory as she follows her grams down the staircase leading into her bedroom.
“Careful dear. Pride doesn't suit you.”
“Sure it does,” Julianna answers, “You're just not looking.”
Martha grins as she steps off of the staircase into her granddaughter's room. She makes a left and heads for the kitchen area. Her boastful granddaughter tails close behind.
* * *
“I do have a lot on my plate right now,” Tamara explains, “But part of that is you. And the fastest way to get scraped off into the garbage is to lie to me. If you don't want to tell me something, just say that. I can handle it. I'm a big girl. But don't lie to me.”
Mandie looks down at her plate of lasagna and nods.
“I'm sorry. I'm just not used to being around people like you. Everyone I know is always going out of their way to please me.”
Tamara reaches across the table and gently nudges Mandie's chin with her long fingers. The girl with black hair looks at her.
“You call me on everything,” Mandie explains, “And I don't always know h
ow to react to you.”
Tamara releases Mandie's chin when she is confident that the girl will keep eye contact with her.
“That's your problem, Mandie. You need to stop reacting and start being who you are.”
The bleach blond girl continues, “I don't need you to say something you think I want to hear. I need you to say something which – how did you put it – is real.”
Tamara pauses. Her brows lift slightly, “Just like you did whenever you knew I wasn't going to stop just because you were begging me to.”
The cheerleader points her fork at Mandie, “Now that was real.”
Mandie grins with embarrassment. She adores Tamara with her green eyes.
“Spill it,” Tamara stabs a piece of cut lasagna with her fork, “Tell me why my blood covenant is broken with my friends, how you know about it, and why I am now tied to you.”
“As I recall,” Tamara continues, “You weren't there. And I know for a fact you and I didn't perform any ritual. So what gives?”
The nervous look dancing across Mandie's face is absolutely priceless. Tamara could care-a-less if the woman sitting across from her ever answers the questions or not. She isn't really interested in all of that spell stuff anyway. But Mandie could most definitely keep that precious look on her face all night. It's cute. It's adorable. And the princess wears it well. It sure beats a frilly dress any day of the week.
Mandie drops her fork in her plate as she sits back against her chair. She claps her hands slowly.
“You are so much more than I could have ever hoped for, Tamara Hillary Stilliard.”
Tamara watches curiously.
“No more lies,” Mandie promises. She slightly tilts her head to the right. Her eyes take in Tamara's short blond hair before returning to Tamara's brown eyes.
