by P. J. Burgy
Gathering the courage first, she bit her bottom lip. Lizzie crawled onto the couch to join him, her back pressed against his chest. She nestled between his thighs and let him wrap his arms around her middle again. His lack of body heat felt unnatural compared to his animated motions. He curled around her like static charged fabric, chin brushing her shoulder.
“Mm. You’re so warm.”
She lost an internal battle – her good sense telling her no – and ran her hand along his right thigh. Strong. Thick. “Am I safe tonight, Martin?”
“You’re safe.” He nuzzled her ear.
The action movie carried on, ignored, as she closed her eyes and squeezed his thigh. “If I… if I wanted you…”
“Do you want this body?”
“You wouldn’t enjoy it though, would you?”
“If you did, I would in my own way.”
“You don’t feel anything though…”
“But I do,” he whispered.
Her eyes opened part-way. “I mean… feel-feel.”
“Just as I see more keenly than any human – and hear and taste and smell when I choose to – I can feel acutely. Pain. Pleasure. Oh, sensation is not lost. My wanting isn’t like your wanting, but I can grow excited. I can long for satisfaction. And your pleasure would bring me so much satisfaction, Lizzie. If you but asked, I would do anything for you. I’d fulfill any desire without hesitation,” he spoke softly in her ear. “If you wanted to watch me moan and beg, squirm like a snake for you, I’d obey.”
She shivered. “And if I wasn’t sure yet?”
He pushed her hair away from her cheek. “Then I would wait until you asked. That is it. I can be whatever you want me to be, my dear one. Whenever you want. We will be master and servant. Sometimes, I will be the servant…”
“Martin…”
“Yes?”
She turned enough to see him from the corner of her eye, the deep well of his gaze catching her up and spinning her around. Words failed her briefly, then she found her voice. “What do you desire? I mean, for yourself? What do you like?”
“To please you.”
“No, really. You have to want more than that.”
His brows knit. “To have you. To be the recipient of your gifts. To witness your spark become a bright flame for me. Only for me. All for me.”
“You want me all to yourself?”
“I don’t like to share.”
She frowned. “I wanted to put my books on shelves and my paintings on walls, Martin.”
“My shelves and my walls.”
“You’re greedy then.”
“That I am.”
“I don’t want to be hidden away.” Her eyes closed.
“Perhaps we can reach a compromise. I’m nothing if not reasonable.”
“I’ll have that list with me. The things I want.”
He smirked. “I can’t wait to see it.”
Her eyes opened. “So that’s it? That’s all I would do that would please you? Paint for you and send you chapters of my books?”
“The occasional sharing of warmth as well.”
“See? That’s something else. Something you like.”
“Indeed, it is.”
“I don’t mind being close like this.”
“Skin to skin is nicer. Or sharing your breath.”
“Sharing my breath?” She eyed him quizzically.
Nodding, he gave her another gentle squeeze. “Filling my lungs with your breath.”
“You like that?”
“I love that.”
“Let me do it then.” A smile crept onto her lips.
“If you’re sure…”
“Yeah.”
“Then yes, please, breathe into me.” He brushed his nose along her ear.
Lizzie twisted around, kneeling between his thighs and held the sides of his face, looking into those bright, blue eyes. His lips parted for her and after she took in a deep inhalation, she pressed her mouth against his. As she breathed into him, his hands settled on her hips.
Lips leaving his, she studied the way his head tilted back, his eyes closed. He exhaled her breath, moaning softly.
He bared his teeth. “Again.”
She complied. His fingers curled, digging into her.
“Ow- Martin… careful.”
“Sorry. Again. Please.”
Another breath, his chest expanding. He exhaled, touching his tongue to his top lip, eyes dreamy as though drunk.
“Do you miss being human?” she asked.
“No. But the warmth inside… it’s bliss,” he whispered.
“What’s it like?”
“Like hot blood in my veins, after I’d fed. Euphoric. Addicting.” He grinned. “And now you’ve got me hooked on you.”
She couldn’t help but grin as well. “Is that a bad thing?”
“Only if you regret your decision. I fight for what I want, I’ll have you know.” His eyes darkened.
“Don’t make threats.” Her throat tightened slightly.
“Not a threat. You’ve captured me with your tender affections and now I’m yours. After we’ve bonded, we’ll belong to one another.” He smiled, showing off his teeth. His fangs poked out over his canines, partly unsheathed. “For now, though, I’m your prisoner.”
“No, don’t say it that way. I didn’t mean to-”
“But I am. I’d chase you to the ends of the Earth.”
“See, that does kinda sound like another threat…”
His fangs receded into the gums, and he closed his mouth, grinning widely. “Let me catch you, and all will be well.”
“After all that, I don’t see how I can refuse…”
“Let us finish out this night. It’s better if you make your choice with eyes unclouded. If you still agree after, I vow to you that I will be your everything.”
“I just want more nights like this.”
“Then that is what I’ll give you.” He squeezed her gently. “I love you. I love you so much.”
“I love you too.” She turned around and leaned into him, sighing as his arms slipped around her waist.
Sometime between midnight and 3 AM, Lizzie fell asleep in his arms on the couch, a musical he’d chosen running quietly in the background as she nodded off, dozed, and then passed out.
He roused her with a gentle nudge and scooped her up, getting her into a sitting position. “Lizzie. Lizzie, it’s time.”
“Mm.” She nodded, wiping at her face.
Swinging her legs over the couch, she instinctively reached down for her purse, fumbled for it, and slipped out her phone to check the time. A little after 7 AM.
He helped her to her feet, and she slid her phone loosely into her back pocket. It threatened to fall out several times as she sniffed groggily and let him take her hand.
She yawned as he pulled her along, out of the entertainment room and toward the unlit kitchen. He paused at the door to the cellar, turning back to look at her with dark eyes.
She’d gotten a good look at him in the low light from the entertainment room. It was a surprise for her, a flutter in her chest as she stared wide eyed. He had a gauntness to his face, stark in the play of light and dark. The blue of his irises had turned black, and she could see the faintest hint of veins under his skin.
“Come. Come.” He opened the cellar door and pulled her along, dragging her behind him into the musty blackness.
“It’s dark. I can’t see,” she whispered.
Her questing steps faltered once and he caught her weight, supporting her on the steep, wooden stairs. Creaking, wailing echoes filled her ears until they finally reached the cement floor of the landing. With a soft click, he turned on the light.
His fingers, almost claws now that his nails had grown and hooked over, released the quivering pull chain hanging from above him and Lizzie scanned the area, squinting as her vision adjusted.
She stood in a dusty, concrete floor cellar as wide as his foyer with deep shadow swallowing up the far c
orners of the room. Crates lined the walls and several dimly lit wooden doors lurked just outside of the warm light from the bulb above their heads. The ceiling had to be eight feet high, the spider webs thick and unruly. A wine rack with ten or so bottles sparkling in the light sat to her left. To her right, a long, black coffin sat on hardy stands several feet off the ground.
The first of the two lids lay open, the interior visible along with a flattened pillow and dirty white silk fabric. Lizzie was no stranger to the sight of coffins; there had been two open caskets for her parents’ viewing. It was the dirt ground into the fabric that gave her a start and she cautiously approached to get a closer look.
“Soil from the land of my birth,” he stated.
She nodded. “I remember.”
Martin stepped up beside her and opened the bottom lid. “I wanted you to be here with me today, not only to witness but to… comfort me.” He ran his palm across the interior silk. “I die, Lizzie. I die every morning at sunrise and even after six-hundred years, even knowing that I’ll wake up again at sunset, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll stay with you.” She touched his back, her gaze solemn and his slightly fearful when their eyes met.
He began to unbutton his shirt. “Thank you.”
Unsure of what to say, she watched him completely disrobe, stripping down until he stood nude before her. Her lips went dry, compelling her to lick them. Even paled out with veins showing through his skin, he was unnaturally attractive, built like a fitness model from the front of one of those magazines she passed at the gas station register.
She didn’t want to get caught gawking at his body and forced her eyes upward as soon as he’d pivoted around to face her. Still, enough had been seen; even flaccid he intimidated her. It was difficult not to smile at the thought despite the situation.
“You sleep naked?” Her throat tightened. “Ah…”
“I like to have the earth against my skin,” he replied. “I should have warned you. I’ve grown too old for modesty apparently. My apologies.”
“I’m, ah, not offended.”
Martin smiled weakly. “Glad for that. You’ll get used to the sight soon enough. One of your duties will be to stay by my side each morning. Not a difficult task, I think.”
She contemplated on it silently and nodded. Being home every morning was an expectation then. “All right.”
He crawled into his coffin and sat toward the center, grabbing handfuls of dirt to spread across his legs before lying back. Closing the bottom panel lid, he repeated the process with dirt across his chest. “Think of it like tucking me into bed, if it helps.”
“Actually, it’s not that weird to me for some reason.”
Again, Martin smiled. “I knew you were special.”
“That’s one way to put it.” Lizzie smirked. “Do you want me to be here when you wake up too?”
“Not one of your duties, but it’d be nice. Though I don’t wake up as pretty. I’d save that for another time,” he mused.
Standing at the head of the coffin, she wrapped her fingers over the edge and peered down in at him. “Are there many duties and rules, Martin? Any room for exceptions, I mean?”
“No room for exceptions in some areas, I’m afraid.” He tilted his head, his black eyes tracing over her face. “We can… discuss it tomorrow before the binding ritual.”
She bit her bottom lip. “Okay.”
“I’ll take such good care of you,” he said, voice turning hoarse. “I promise.”
She began to stroke his hair, studying his pale face and his large, worried eyes. “Are you tired?”
“The darkness creeps in around the edges of my eyes.” The whispered words wavered from his lips. “Like… drowning. Bleeding out. I’m so cold.”
“I’m here.”
“When I stop talking, close the lid, please. It makes waking more peaceful.” He nodded softly, appearing to stiffen. Flexing his neck and shoulders, he twisted feebly. “It hurts.”
“Shh.” She ran her thumb over his cheek. His flesh did indeed feel colder to her. The muscles underneath grew hard, like a cramp, and she saw his jaw clench.
“When we bind, you will help bear this pain.” He choked on his words, his lips working silently for a few seconds. “Help.”
“It’s okay. Yes, of course.” She leaned down and rubbed his jawline. She kept eye contact, smiling reassuringly.
“L-Liz-”
“Shh. I’m here.”
“Hhnn.. nnnh…” He shuddered.
Her thumb brushed over his cheek. “I’m here.”
Martin stared up at her face, his throat convulsing. A death rattle, dry and hollow, cracked from his chest. As his gaze softened, his eyes unfocused, glazing until he appeared to look blindly toward the ceiling. He relaxed, his muscles losing all rigidity, and went limp, lips parted.
After a moment of silence, Lizzie blinked. “Martin?”
He stared off dreamily, eyes lost.
She hesitated before pressing her palm down and lowering his eyelids. He’d looked so strange staring off like that.
Fatigue pulled at her mind despite having slept for a few hours and she swallowed thickly, swaying where she stood before shutting the top panel of the coffin for him.
It didn’t occur to her to turn off the cellar light off before she walked back up the steps and into his kitchen. She grabbed her purse from the floor beside the couch, then left his house.
She woke up in her own bed around noon that same day, reaching for her phone on the bedside table and not finding it. Groaning in frustration, Lizzie rolled out of bed and stretched.
Her phone wasn’t in her purse.
She threw on some real clothes and went outside.
After a thorough search she was unable to locate her phone in her car either, and she slammed the door shut in annoyance.
It was then that she remembered her stumble down Martin’s cellar steps. The creaking of the old wood would have masked the sound of her phone falling out of her back pocket.
Stomping back to the house, she muttered to herself and grabbed her jacket out of the closet. As she walked along the sidewalk, the first big fat snowflakes began to fall from the white sky, laying and sticking all around her.
By the time she reached Martin’s house, not even fifteen minutes later, the snow was really coming down. She had her wipers on when she pulled into his long driveway. She frightened a murder of crows that had gathered on his lawn near the little lot and they lighted into the air, croaking at her in agitation. The birds gathered in the dead trees close by, waiting for her to leave.
Lizzie parked next to his car and hurried to his front door, keys clutched in her hand. She’d attached his house key to her own set and fiddled with it briefly before entering.
Any other time, she’d have considered exploring his house while he slept – he’s dead, Lizzie, dead and rotting – in the cellar – in his coffin, Lizzie – but the impending wrath of the snowstorm loomed over her thoughts and urged her to be quick about her business. She’d have plenty of time soon enough.
She rushed to the kitchen and opened the cellar door. The light was on down there, just as she’d left it. Kicking herself for not even checking her pockets or purse like she always did, she huffed and descended the steps until she saw her phone sitting near the bottom of the stairs.
Once she’d slipped her phone into her back pocket again, she exhaled and shook her head. His coffin sat close by, tempting her to take a look at him. Hours had passed and curiosity got the best of her despite the snowstorm.
Fingers trembling, she opened the top lid and lifted it up, looking down at his face. She almost gagged.
Martin had changed during the morning. He’d become something different and yet eerily similar. He looked… wrong. Still the same gauntness, cheeks more angular and sunken now. His teeth, all long fangs with a sickly yellow tint to them, showed between his parted lips. Black veins under pale skin. His eyes remained mercifully closed, the flesh br
uised and blackened around them.
This time, he did have a smell to him. A faint, putrid stink like bad meat. A cold, slimy slab of beef forgotten at the back of the fridge. Somewhat stagnant. Something to be triple bagged and taken to the outside bin right before airing the kitchen out.
She cupped a hand to her mouth, turned away, and closed the coffin lid. Perhaps it would be best not to look at him when he was sleeping. Dead. Rotting.
Her phone buzzed, shaking her from a daze. Ignoring the call, she left the cellar, closing the door behind her.
The crows in his yard made a noisy fuss when she closed his front door behind her. She locked up for him, checking the doorknob a few times quick. Lizzie gazed up at the snow as it continued to fall. It was completely conceivable that the town was going to be buried at least three feet by the end of the day
She stepped down to the lot from his covered porch and adjusted her jacket, glancing over at the crows as they fought over something shiny at the edge of the grass near her car. They jumped and pecked at it, cawing loudly, tossing the little metallic thing back and forth.
A glint of blue on their coveted prize caught her eyes and she stalked over, recognizing the shape and size. The birds flew off, cackling at her as she bent and grabbed for the little blue nametag and brought it closer. Blood had dried over the printed name ‘TOMMY’.
Chapter 12
All imaginable scenarios ran through her mind. Tommy had walked to Martin’s house, or gotten a ride, and threatened him. Martin killed Tommy in self-defense. Ridiculous. Tommy could be loud and angry, but he wasn’t stupid. And Martin wouldn’t have needed to kill him to protect himself.
Maybe Tommy had gone to Martin’s house, they’d had a fight which resulted in Tommy receiving a bloody nose, and his nametag fell off before he hopped in another car and drove off. Improbable and silly. Tommy wouldn’t have done that either.
Maybe, just maybe, Tommy had smeared his own blood on the nametag and left it at Martin’s house to frame him for- No. That was too far-fetched. Too much work on Tommy’s part.
