The Beast

by Shantea Gauthier

  "Shut up," I said. I pulled him down to kiss me. He didn’t need to feel sorry for me. He needed to feel what I felt, to share the desire that was burning in my face and in my fingertips all the way down into my soul. Every muscle ached for him, every nerve hummed in anticipation.

  I went for the button on his pants and in one quick motion had it undone and his zipper down. I pushed the waistband down with my feet, hands still exploring the muscular landscape of his back, his stomach, and his chest. My fingers twisted in the curls of hair and my back arched when his hand found its way between my legs. I was still wearing shorts and he was still wearing gloves, but I could feel his heat burning through the layers like they weren't there at all. He straightened and with one hand teased me through my clothes while the other hand pulled the triangles of the bikini top out of the way.

  He groped and grabbed at me with gloved hands. I wanted him touching me, not the gloves. I thought of pulling them off, but thinking of his glossy scarred hands touching me cooled my passion, just a little.

  As if he knew what I was thinking, he bent down and bit my neck, pulling me painfully back into the moment. I moaned.

  He kissed me all over, nipped at my nipples, teased me with his hands and his tongue and moved so slowly downward it was almost painful. His tongue played just under my waistband and I arched up against him. When he finally pulled my shorts down and stood to remove his pants, I kicked furiously to be free of my clothes. He was beautiful naked. I was embarrassed by him staring at me, but it didn't last long. I reached out and seized hold of him in one hand. He shuddered as though his legs might give way as I pulled him closer to me, on top of me, but he pushed himself back and turned away.

  "I should really go now," he said, looking at the curtained window. "It's getting late."

  "I want you," I said, pulling him back to face me. It seemed to do the trick. For a moment he teased at the slick opening that awaited him and then he was inside of me.

  Every thrust, every stroke, every sigh made me want more. I grabbed at his hair and he grabbed at mine. I barely felt the pain in my healing scalp and bruised ribs as we moved together.

  I felt that I was close to climax and I clawed at him desperately, felt him gripping my arm with his bandaged hands, the gloves were off and the rough gauze scraped at me. I felt something tear through my shoulder, just enough to draw blood, but I didn't care. My throat vibrated between his teeth and I couldn't tell who was causing it. Was he moaning or was I? It didn't matter.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and when I opened them it was like the whole world had fallen away. It was like the night we'd met, on top of the world and floating in space. A sudden violent shudder brought me back to earth. He nuzzled up against my neck and rolled over, pulling me on top of him. I started to move, but he held me still.

  "…shouldn't have… should go now…" he panted between deep breaths.

  "Shut up," I breathed, letting myself down onto the bed. I kissed his neck, which made him groan with pleasure and I tucked myself in between his arm and his body. The light smell of fresh sweat made me want him all over again, but I was too tired. I sighed and closed my eyes.

  I woke up to tapping on the window. Sandra had trees that reached the second story, they brushed the windows sometimes. That was how she knew when it was time to cut them back. I was no longer tucked into Simon's arm but I could feel him close by. I squeezed my eyes shut.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Something about it wasn't right. I fought for consciousness through wine and exhaustion. Simon was snoring somewhere to my left.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  It was too familiar. I looked at the curtains covering the window. It could only mean one thing.

  It was Harold.

  I threw a nightgown on and opened the window. Harold turned his head and raised a hand to his nose like I'd just blown smoke in his face.

  "That smell is horrific," he said. "Oh god, don't tell me it's still here."

  "How did you find me?" I asked, emboldened by both the sick feeling from too much wine and the comforting presence of Simon nearby. "What do you want?"

  "I am perfectly willing to have a conversation with you," Harold said, waving a hand in front of his face. "But that odor is completely offensive."

  "What do you want?" I repeated.

  "The same thing that I wanted before. I want you."

  Looking into his eyes, I felt woozy. Like I was falling and the world was moving around me while I stood still. I felt like I wanted him too. I blinked and shook my head, trying to clear it.

  "Drink the blood I gave you," he said.

  I nodded, prepared to do it. It would be okay. He would protect me if I did it.

  A deep growl broke the spell.

  "Invite me in," Harold said. "I'll get rid of that nasty little dog for you."

  "No," I said. "I don't want you here."

  "Fine. To hell with manners," Harold replied, with a bored little shrug. He shot through the window like a bullet. Glass sparkled in the light of the full moon and I watched Simon fall back from the force of the vampire. Simon shimmered and rippled like a mirage and snarled like a beast as his chest expanded suddenly. I backed over a chair and broke it when we both tumbled to the ground. Glass shards embedded into my palms. I gripped the broken leg like it was a spear.

  Or a wooden stake.

  My jaw clenched, fighting against a scream as Simon's face turned black and stretched into a muzzle. His ears shifted and his feet elongated. While they fought, pushing each other round and round, he was changing. He looked like a Hollywood werewolf when the change was complete, all at once terrifying and ridiculous and majestic and awful. He spread his arms and snarled.

  Harold stood a few paces away, looking elegantly bored. He glanced up, and in a blur was headed for Simon. The Simon-beast raised one massive clawed hand and knocked the slim vampire down. Almost too quickly to see, Harold was back on his feet, face still expressionless. I could see they were both looking for weapons as they threw each other around. Their bodies recovered their positions but their eyes were searching wildly. I kicked one of the broken chair legs and hoped that Simon would get it. He did. He waved his long black arms around, trying to get hold of Harold, but Harold was too quick. He almost seemed to appear and reappear all around the room with that bored look on his face while Simon whirled and snarled in anger.

  Harold ran a few steps up a wall and like an arrow launched into Simon’s chest, knocking him over. I felt as if a spotlight had suddenly been turned on me and I raised the broken leg in a sad attempt at defending myself. I cringed, knowing I was about to die, drunk, smelling of sex and with a look of total fear on my face. Simon kicked his long, clawed foot and caught Harold just in time to send him tumbling into me and the raised stake. The weight of his body pushed the blunt end into my chest and I heard a crack accompanied by white hot blinding pain.

  Simon's huge furry hands, no longer bandaged but pink and scarred, startling against his black fur, pulled the dead vampire carefully off of me. He pushed the body out the window, took a long look at me, sniffed and then jumped through, knocking loose more of the glass. Before it even hit the floor, I blacked out.

  chapter 9

  I woke up in a hospital.

  Sandra’s blonde head bobbed drowsily on the arm of a very uncomfortable looking chair nearby. I tried to move, but the pull of bandages and rubber tubing discouraged me.

  "What happened?" I tried to ask. It hurt to breathe, and only an awful hiss of pain came out.

  Sandra's head popped up and her hand flew to the call button. "Holy crap, you're awake! Shh, don’t try to talk. What the hell happened? Don’t die!"

  I wasn't sure if I was supposed to answer or be quiet, so I stayed quiet. I didn’t feel like talking anyway. If I could have avoided breathing altogether, I would have preferred it.

  A man in a white coat came into the room. I guessed he was the doctor, but I couldn’t focus on his name badge, so he could have been the jani
tor for all I knew. I’d have to remember to thank Sandra for being there.

  "Hi, Jade," he said gently. "How are you feeling?"

  I opened my mouth to answer but all that came out was a rush of air. Pain blinded me. I pulled in a difficult, shaky breath. "Been better," I finally managed.

  "I'll bet," said the doctor. "You've torn the cartilage in your chest. It separated from your rib bones."

  "I know that," Sandra complained. "What do we do about it?"

  The doctor shot her an annoyed look with piercing black eyes. I would have to really thank Sandra for being so pushy on my behalf.

  Sandra turned pink. "Right, she didn’t know that yet. The whole unconscious thing."

  "So," I grunted. "What do we do?”

  "Now that you're awake we'll get some meds going in your IV for that fever and some pain management."

  I looked desperately at Sandra.

  "Then what?" she asked.

  "Then whenever you want, you go home and rest. I'll write you a prescription for pain management and you wait for it to heal."

  "That's… it?" I rasped.

  "That's it?" Sandra echoed, if echoes could be louder than the original. "You can't, like, fix it?"

  The doctor smiled the "what a cute little blonde" smile that people sometimes gave Sandra and explained, "There is nothing we can do but manage the symptoms and give it time. Some people find that a compression bandage helps prevent the ribs from slipping out of place and makes it feel more stable."

  "How long does she have to stay?" Sandra asked, reading the look written all over my face.

  "Just a couple of hours," the doctor said. "We have a specialist coming in to ask a few questions about how this happened. Once the fever is gone and she feels comfortable, she can leave. If you need anything else, or if you start to feel worse, press the call button and a nurse will be right in."

  I blinked my acknowledgement. Sandra patted my hand.

  "Don't worry babe, I've got Jack cleaning up the room for you. I made sure there was nothing incriminating where he could find it."

  I tried to smile.

  “You should really work on getting some incriminating stuff,” she said, trying to cheer me up. “I mean, all that I had to hide was your underwear. It makes you look kind of boring.”

  I tried to suppress a laugh, but squealed in pain when I failed and tears rushed to my eyes. Sandra panicked, apologized, and turned her face up to the TV. Her wide, guilty eyes darted between the TV and me, checking to see if she’d caused any lasting pain. I had to look up at the TV to stop from laughing at her.

  The muted TV’s captions revealed that the news anchor was pointing out that they were calling the killer "The Beast of Hollywood" even though only one of the three attacks was in the Hollywood area.

  "Make that one of four," an onsite news anchor said. A field of dead grass waved behind her. "Another attack in the valley last night; happened right behind where I am standing now. This victim; like the others, appeared to be cut cleanly and was missing a portion of flesh, bone, and organs. Local authorities are not releasing images or the victim’s name just yet, but we'll get back to you as soon as they do."

  The screen flashed back to the studio where the anchor gave out his safety tips. Don't go out alone, especially at night. Stay out of the hills at night. If you see a mountain lion, make yourself look bigger. If you are in a group, stay together and collectively look as big as possible by sitting on shoulders, opening jackets wide and standing up straight. Don't carry food into the hills. Make sure you know where your children are at all times and do not let them go into the hills at night.

  The captions blurred and flickered and the tiny movement of my eyes back and forth across the screen made me woozy.

  I twitched my fingers in the general direction of the trash can, hoping Sandra would understand.

  “Oh, no,” she said. She grabbed a kidney pan from the counter and set it to one side of my head.

  I grunted my thanks and my stomach took the kidney pan’s presence as permission to heave. Nothing came up.

  "Just turn your head if you need to puke and I'll uh… I'll do what I can." She could handle mummified child corpses with glee, but she would probably have to leave the room if I threw up. She was not supportive of those engaged in vomiting unless she was very drunk.

  A fluffy news piece about a group of high school students who organized a "puppy parade" to raise funds for a new school library came on and Sandra and I both tried to watch that and ignore my horrible retching. Just as I was dozing, the "specialist" arrived.

  The doctor introduced us. "Jade, this is Dr. Advarin. Dr. Advarin, this is Jade." He turned to Sandra. "This is her interpreter," he said, smiling. "Sandra."

  Dr. Advarin, about twice my age and at least twice my weight, nodded without smiling. Her waxy orange lipstick looked like it was sealing her lips shut.

  "It's nice to meet you, Jade."

  I blinked in greeting.

  "It's nice to meet you too," Sandra said, filling in the role of interpreter.

  "I understand that you were hurt last night. Can you tell me a little bit about that?" Her kindergarten-teacher tone grated on me.

  "Chair," I croaked.

  "It happened tripping over a chair," Sandra said. "The chair was broken this morning. So was the window."

  Dr. Advarin ignored her. "What happened to your ribs before the chair? There was a lot of old bruising, and some cuts that were almost healed. Who did that?"

  A vampire, I thought. But I can’t tell you that.

  I looked at Sandra, who was looking at me intently after hearing the news. "Was it that Simon guy?" she asked.

  I shook my head. "It was my fault." I winced, half in pain, half in the realization that the words would be misinterpreted horribly. "I mean it was an accident. He wasn't even there."

  "Some of the bruising is indicative of a fist," Dr. Advarin said. "You mean someone punched you on accident? The size suggests that it was a man's fist and that he was pretty strong. After a hit like that, and the one that cause the earliest bruising, it is completely possible that a tumble over a chair could cause an injury like this."

  "I'll kill him," Sandra growled.

  I closed my eyes, feeling the cool new fluids entering my veins. Like magic, the pain started to fade. I thought of Harold, telling me that all blood is magical.

  When I didn’t say anything, Dr. Advarin said gently, "Sometimes we feel the need to protect people who hurt us because we think that they were justified in doing so. Something like this is never justified, and the only way to make it stop is to let us know what happened so that we can help."

  I shot a desperate look to Sandra, who ignored it until I started to try to sit up. She sighed and said, "She wants to know if there's some sort of doctor patient confidentiality thing."

  Dr. Advarin pushed a strand of hair away from her round face and smiled. "I am obligated to report anything related to child or elderly abuse, thoughts of suicide, or anything directly related to a violent crime."

  I looked at Sandra again, hoping she would get my meaning.

  "What about things like- okay, hypothetically speaking- the people who got tied up trying to steal the wrong car? Did you see that on the news or wherever? Is something – hypothetically – something like that considered a violent crime?"

  "No," Dr. Advarin responded. "I would not be obligated to report that if you were involved."

  "I was," I croaked. "One of them punched me. The one on the no left turn sign."

  The doctor just nodded. "And what happened to the area before that?"

  "Walked into a rail," I lied.

  Slowly, with a long sigh, she set her pen down. She knew I was lying. I knew she knew. Neither of us cared. “If you ever want to talk about it, give me a call."

  She handed me a business card and left.

  I was free to go as soon as my fever dipped low enough and I was high on whatever juice they’d pumped into my veins. Sandra
handled most of the paperwork for me, practically holding my hand to sign my name and initial for what felt like an hour of dull pain.

  Sandra, Jack, and Cole helped me into Sandra's old van. Back at home, they helped me across the glass-free floor into the fresh bedding.

  Jessica smiled at me from across the room, barely visible beyond the flowers and presents on the night stand. She raised a porcelain bell. "I am your personal slave until three," she said. "Just ring this bell and I'll come running. Whatever you want."

  I gave a pitiful smile and tried to say that she didn't have to, that I didn't want her to, but my mouth wouldn't open. Instead, I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

  I woke up and reached for the bell. The small movement made my body sing with pain that I didn’t even know was possible. I rang the bell and Jessica appeared. Apparently it was still before three.

  "What… meds?" I rasped.

  "Sandra said that you can take two pills in about an hour, but not before that. I can get you some water though. And I can help you open your presents!"

  I allowed her to help me sip a cup of water.

  "You saved my life," she said. "I'll always be thankful to you for that. I'll be back after midnight, whether you want me or not, and as often as I can be while you're healing from this. Here, open this one. It's from me."

  She handed me a carefully wrapped shirt box tied with a satin ribbon. I stared at it hopelessly and she turned bright red. "I'm sorry, I didn't think about it, here, I'll unwrap it."

  She unwrapped and opened it for me and pulled out a slinky red and black nightgown.

  "I know it's kind of weird to get something like this for you, but Sandra told me your nighty got all ruined and this one made me think of you. Red is so your color, and I kind of knew your size from borrowing your bikini. I mean, I knew that you were taller than me and your boobs are bigger at least." She was as red as the garment she held. "It was probably stupid. I'm so weird, I know, but… You saved my life. And it was like, yesterday."