e.Vampire.com

by Scarlet Black

  Jen picked up the phone to dial.

  “Put the phone down Jen.” Laughing, Julie shook her head.

  Jennifer was puzzled. Why did Julie think this was even remotely funny?

  “Shouldn’t I tell someone about that swing?”

  “Good God, you really are that naïve!” Julie exclaimed.

  Suzanne and Mary-Lou were also grinning as if the three of them shared knowledge that escaped Jen altogether. She blushed even more (if such a thing were possible) partly because of the story but more because she really was naïve.

  It began to sink into her brain then. If her father were here, he’d say ‘Dawn breaks over Marblehead’ as he always did when he thought someone was as thick as a brick and finally realized something. The seat of that swing could easily support an adult.

  “It was a sex swing Jen. The girl sits in it and the stirrups hold her legs apart, that way the guys cock can go in nice and deep. He moves the swing by holding onto the reins.”

  Jennifer cringed at Julie’s use of the word cock. She didn’t say words like that.

  “I wish my husband was that adventurous.” Suzanne sounded wistful.

  “And what about that other stuff? He had whips, masks and more in there.”

  “Did he hurt you or make you do anything you didn’t want to?” Mary-Lou asked, concerned.

  “Um . . . no. When I turned away from the door, he was standing right behind me. I swear I must’ve jumped a mile! He was still wet from the shower, his upper body, face and hair glistened. He touched my shoulder and kissed me again, but I didn’t kiss him back. I asked him to take me home right then.”

  “This is not what you think,” he nodded toward the room. “It’s just for fun. I’d never hurt you or anything. That is, unless you want me too.”

  I thought, “Hurt me? Oh I don’t think so! His eyes looked hopeful, like he wanted me to give him permission to hurt me. And even if he didn’t, there was no way I was going to take part in that sort of thing!” Jen heard her voice rise in a smug, self-righteous way. She didn’t like it.

  “Jesus, Jen. Have you ever even had sex? You must be aware of alternate lifestyles and stuff.”

  “Of course I have!” Jennifer felt her cheeks burn. Unfortunately, she blushed often and when she did, her neck turned a blotchy red color as well. She heard the defensive tone in her voice. She sounded holier-than-thou.

  She didn’t tell them her only sexual partner had been a boyfriend in high school. Or that it was a miserable experience in the back seat of his car as he clumsily pushed inside her with little foreplay and had been there only long enough to claim her virginity before he came.

  Every time she’d had sex with him after was just as awkward until it became downright dreadful. She broke up with him, relieved that she wouldn’t have to endure it any longer. She just didn’t see what all the fuss was when it came to sex.

  “The fact that you’re here and not locked up in some basement proves he wasn’t a bad guy, not really. I know a lot of people that engage in that sort of thing. As long as it’s mutual, I really don’t see anything wrong with it,” Julie said casually, as if she were discussing a motion to be filed or some other mundane subject.

  All eyes were now on Julie. Jennifer was forgotten for the moment. She was relieved.

  Julie shrugged, “I’m just saying. It’s no big deal.”

  “Have you ever . . . been on one of those swings or tied up and stuff?” Suzanne asked, her eyes wide, she obviously anticipated another juicy story.

  “Well, no.” Julie shook her head, “But I think I might try it. Not all of it maybe, but the sex swing. Yeah, I’d do that.”

  “Hmm. Me too,” Suzanne said longingly. Apparently the woman’s husband was as dull as dirt in the bedroom judging from the way she hung on every word of the conversation. Jennifer was waiting for her to start drooling at any minute.

  When they’d disbanded and gone about their daily work, Jennifer couldn’t stop thinking. Am I not only naïve but a prude as well? And that self-righteous voice was back again. She didn’t like it and muttered, “Shut the hell up.”

  Chapter 2

  Dorian Taylor stood at the wall of windows on the very top floor of the high-rise building which housed his business in downtown Miami. His hand clasped behind his back, he gazed out at the panoramic view set before him, marveling as always at the twilight of a Miami night to come. The air was heavy with the ceaseless humidity of the city and the lightning zigzagged in a brilliant bluish, white hue through the sky heading toward the ground.

  He was in a contemplative mood tonight. He thought back over the last six years, which had been good ones, he couldn’t deny it, and yet he yearned for something more. What that something was he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but he could feel it. His heart was empty. He didn’t know if the hollowness filled his soul as well because he was unsure if he possessed one. Perhaps he had once, when he’d been a young human male of 24. Being what he was and had been for the past ninety-seven years, he hoped he didn’t have one because if he ever died, he’d certainly go to hell.

  It was almost time for the evening meeting of e.Vampire.com, the company he and his partner, Malachi Van Ness had founded six years ago in the perfect city, Miami where death was as common place as the palm trees and ocean breezes. So many mortals came here to spend the last years of their lives that death was to be expected.

  And then of course, there were plenty of criminals, gangs who fought over drugs and territory, and the whores peddling their wares, dazzling with their glitzy, albeit cheap clothes and tanned bodies.

  The stench of sweat,violence and blood hid behind the expensive cars and elaborate mansions, the swaying palms and aqua colored ocean waters.

  The seedy part of Miami was a place the tourists and the very wealthy never saw, unless of course they went looking for it. If you looked hard enough for decadence and debauchery, hell, if you looked just a little it certainly wouldn’t be hard to come by here.

  And this city is where he and Malachi had decided to create the perfect side business to accommodate such needs and wants. Here is where e.Vampire.com was born. However, their offices were not located in the seedy areas, far from it.

  e.Vampire.com sat high in the sky in an all glass and steel building right in downtown Miami. Although it was housed in the same building, it was completely separate from their real business, Taylor and Van Ness, the huge software company he and Malachi had built. The company was worth billions. Granted, Malachi had provided the start-up funds, but it was Dorian’s amazing talent as a computer software designer which made the company so successful.

  Over the last six years, Dorian came to realize this was one of the most dangerous places he’d ever lived in. And that was saying a lot.

  As a child, he’d lived in the English countryside in a large cottage, complete with a magnificent English garden. His father, Robert Taylor wasn’t a rich man, but they lived well enough, until the bitter times came during that one horrible winter when everything changed forever.

  Still they were better off than the poor souls who resided in White Chapel. A place Dorian had visited on the few occasions his father had business there. Although, business wasn’t exactly the right word for what his father did there.

  His father went there solely to have sex with prostitutes and had tried to buy Dorian a whore for his eighteenth birthday. Dorian refused the gift the first time and every time he asked thereafter. After a while, his father stopped asking.

  During those visits, he’d sat alone on the stoops of the run-down brothels with their broken windows and chipped wooden frames, listening to the moans of the women and the grunts of the men who bed them. He remembered how difficult it was to breathe there. The air was so heavy with soot from the endless fireplaces where coal burned and chimneys churned gray smoke into the air.

  The country air was so much fresher. Each time they returned home, his father would put a finger to his mouth and tell him “Not a word
, Dorian. This is our secret. Your mother and sister must never know.”

  Dorian would nod and say nothing. He found it difficult to face his mother after those visits, and prayed she wouldn’t see the blush of his cheek which proclaimed his shame at his father’s sordid past-times.

  Genevieve, his mother was once a very beautiful young, French girl. Now, she was a mere shadow of her former self. She was dying slowly but surely of consumption and he felt the familiar pang of fury at his father for tossing her aside now that her looks were fading and she was ill.

  He should be caring for her, Dorian would think. Apparently, his father didn’t agree. The man avoided contact with his wife as much as possible.

  Her face lit up whenever Dorian entered her room. “Ah, my son! Come sit beside me.”

  The room was always chilly and the fire in need of stoking.

  “First, let me tend to the fire.” He’d build her a roaring blaze and sit with her for hours, listening to the tales of her youth. How many a man had courted her but only his father had won her heart, much to her family’s dismay. They didn’t trust the man who’d taken their precious daughter out of Paris and into the English countryside. Her parents had since passed away and she had no siblings. All she had left was a home that was giving way to age and lack of care, an absent husband and no money to speak of.

  Dorian knew full well, his family was near penniless. She had her children, whom she cherished. His sister Naomi a wide eyed, innocent sixteen year old girl and him.

  He’d been given his name based on one of his mother’s most treasured books, a first edition copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. His father never liked the book, the name or the author. He thought of Oscar Wilde as a flamboyant and decadent man with an unnatural sexual preference for other men. His mother adored the imagination of the man and the notion of bartering one’s soul for lasting youth and beauty. The very things her illness was stripping away from her.

  She was fully aware that her death was imminent. He noticed she dared not even look into a mirror anymore.

  He was 24 years old when she summoned him to her room one night. She and her husband had separate suites and Dorian knew whatever she had to say to him must be private. His father never came to her room anymore.

  A strange sense of foreboding had come over Dorian. It was the night before he and his father were to go hunting. The hunt was the first of its kind for them. Normally, they’d set out with bow and arrows and hunt for sport. Now, it was a matter of survival. The harsh truth was, his family was close to starvation.

  Dorian’s stomach lurched when he walked into that room. It seemed as if every time he saw her, she looked more like a corpse than a living, breathing woman.

  She smiled warmly at him. The smile made her appear all the more ghastly.

  She lovingly stroked his cheeks with a mother’s gentle touch. “How handsome you’ve become.”

  He heard pride in her voice and it pleased him. He bore a strong resemblance to her. He had her high cheekbones, icy blue eyes under long, black eyelashes and black hair which shone like ebony. His lips were full, his chin strong. She was a petite creature while he stood six feet tall, gaining his height from his father.

  She spoke solemnly. “Dorian, I know what feelings you hold in your heart toward your father and it pains me. He’s been a good husband and father . . .”

  “How can you say that?” A good husband does not leave his wife to die alone! Dorian thought. Nor does he bed other women while his wife is going about it.

  “I know about White Chapel and the women he sees there. I’ve been ill for a very long time and a man has his needs. I am no longer able to fulfill them.”

  Dorian was taken aback. She knew! Still, that was no excuse for his father’s behavior. Dorian would never treat a woman he loved that way. He’d take care of her and die for her if need be. That’s how a real man treats a woman, a good and decent man. He thought his father was neither.

  Dorian couldn’t hide the flush of anger in his face but remained silent.

  “You must forgive him, Dorian. He wasn’t always like he is now. You know that to be true.”

  “Why should I?” Dorian said defiantly. “I might forgive him his indiscretions, but to leave you alone when you’re . . .”

  “Dorian, you’re a grown man now. Sometimes, you need to look hard at a person to see what truly lies in their heart. Nothing is ever black and white. I do forgive him, for I see what lies behind his actions. The thought of my impending death terrifies him. He cannot bear to see me, once so beautiful in his eyes reduced to this thing. Cannot watch someone he loves eaten away by disease. Call him weak if you will, but I see it in his eyes when he’s near to me. He cares deeply.”

  Dorian shook his head, confused. He didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand. “I’d never do that to someone I loved,” he whispered.

  “You don’t know that, Dorian. Even the best of people would rather avoid death than stare it in the face. It’s not only unpleasant; it also reminds them of their own mortality. People deal with it in different ways.”

  “Oh, but I do know! I’ll be here for you when the time comes. I promise.”

  She smiled and took his hands in hers. They felt like dried parchment. “I’m tired now. Go to bed. Tomorrow is a busy day for you and your father.”

  He went to bed, but was unable to sleep, his mind raced and his stomach growled. It was another night of going to bed hungry. They had to bring home meat tomorrow; had to if they hoped to survive the winter. And through the pang of hunger and sorrow, the anger he felt toward his father ate away at him.

  The next morning Dorian woke bright and early. He must’ve fallen asleep at some point in the night and was now ready for the day. He was determined to bring food home if just for his mother and sister.

  He and his father walked stealthily through the woods, each carrying bows and a bucket of six arrows apiece slung over their shoulders.

  They didn’t speak, not wanting to scare off any game. Dorian was glad for the silence. He had nothing to say to the man. Anything he did say would most certainly reveal his anger and disappointment in him.

  A light snow had begun to fall, which meant they needed to move hastily, before the tracks of deer, rabbit and other game were obliterated.

  In a few minutes, they spotted a very large doe across the field. She stood alone, her nose to the ground, trying to find something to feed on. There was nothing. Many wild animals died of starvation during the winter. Dorian hoped he and his family wouldn’t join them. This animal could provide enough food for most of the winter.

  He watched his father raise his bow, saw his hands shake. He wasn’t a skilled hunter. He’d had an easy life until these dark days and never took archery very seriously. Dorian had. The arrow slipped and instead of heading toward the deer, it slid down and nicked his hand.

  “Bloody Hell!” he yelled. The deer took off into the woods. They went after it.

  Dorian had a bad feeling about this. His father wrapped his hand but still the wound bled. There were starving animals out here. Surely they’d pick up the scent of blood.

  “Father, I don’t think we should stray too far from the house. You’re hurt.”

  “Nonsense, Dorian. That creature has angered me and I shall kill it! If you don’t want to help, just keep your mouth shut!”

  Dorian looked around as they moved out of the clearing and into the woods.

  He heard a low growling sound coming from directly behind them. His father didn’t even seem to notice, so intent was he on finding that doe. There was no sign of her.

  “Father,” Dorian whispered.

  “What is it?” his father said impatiently, turning to face his son. His entire body froze; his mouth hung open when he saw the four wolves approaching them.

  Maybe they wouldn’t attack, thought Dorian. Wolves normally didn’t attack without reason. He saw their ribs and hips bones protruding. They were starving and that was r
eason enough for them to strike. Add the scent of blood from his father’s wound and they were as good as dead.

  Dorian loaded an arrow into his bow and took aim at the one closest to them. Its fur was a sharp ridge along its back and it was poised to jump. The snout crinkled, its eyes glittered like that of a demon and its mouth dripped with saliva. The other three strategically circled them.

  Just as one leaped into the air, Dorian let the arrow fly. It whizzed swiftly with a zinging sound and found its mark in the wolf’s throat. It went down with a soft thud on the snow-packed ground. Clawing at its neck and whimpering, it sounded helpless now. Dorian had little time to watch the creature draw its last breath. He re-loaded his bow and turned his attention to the other three. They hung back a little, as if assessing the situation.

  How long would they stay back until they attacked again? Dorian thought.

  “Father, behind you!” Dorian shouted as the smallest of the three leaped onto his father’s back. Once the man was down the other two pounced as well.

  Dorian looked on in horror as they tore at his father’s coat, pants and head. He swung his arms every which way, trying to get them off. It was futile. They may’ve been weak with hunger, but then again, so were he and his father.

  He aimed his arrow at them, finding it difficult to get a clear shot. The wolves were biting, growling and clawing at his father. Bright red blood began to seep from underneath his body onto the white snow.

  He looked back toward the house for a moment, trying to judge the distance between where they stood and refuge. There was no way they both could make it back.

  An image flashed into his mind of his mother lying upon her death bed without a husband at her side, and his sister, Naomi, they needed him!

  An unwanted and terrible thought came to him. He could very well make it while the wolves were busy eating his father. He looked back at the scene, heard his father’s high-pitched screams and lowered his weapon.

  Suddenly, all was quiet. The snow continued to fall, heavy and silent. He watched as his father lifted his head up. His eyes met Dorian’s. The look in them was something that would plague him for the rest of his days. The realization of what his son meant to do. Or more to the point, what he meant not to do.