Chapter 5 #2
He smiled, propping his cheek on a bent arm.
His eyes were just as dark as they had been last night, and the rest of him was the same as well.
Sandy-dark hair, over-conservative cut, long nose, a thin mouth, wide cheekbones.
Only the suit had changed—now he wore vest and trousers, two out of three pieces, and his dress shirt’s crisp white sleeves were rolled up, exposing forearms corded with muscle.
A silver watch gleamed on his left wrist, winking cheerfully at her.
They regarded each other for a few heartbeats. Bea cowered under the bed and tried to think of something, anything practical or useful.
And coming up completely empty.
“Good afternoon,” the monster said. The same pleasant tone as yesterday night—or this morning.
Had she been knocked out overnight? What day was it?
“Would you like a drink? Alcohol, or fruit juice perhaps?” A small pause, his expression turning grave.
“Ah. That might give the wrong impression. Are you hungry? You must be.”
The shudders fused, locking Bea in place. Don swore you could hypnotize chickens, and that’s what she felt like—a bird staring at the cat about to eat it, a rabbit just before the hawk’s claws punctured furry hide and something small was swept, dying, into the sky.
The smile returned, a natural, easy expression. The human camouflage was exceptional, but when he stilled again it was like being slapped in the face. An essential difference was visible in that unmoving, and every fear-soaked nerve Bea possessed knew a predator when it sensed one.
“Your identification says Sarah Monroe, but that is clearly false.” Did he sound cajoling, of all things? “Will you at least grant me your name?”
Why? You don’t remember killing Jare, we humans must all blur together for you bloodsuckers. Bea kept her hand over her mouth. The urge to scream rose to a sharp peak, and she wasn’t sure she could contain it.
“Very well.” The monster’s smile didn’t diminish, but his eyelids went to half-mast. “I do apologize, I had a meeting and thought you would sleep until nightfall. Stubborn, very stubborn. I will wait until you feel like speaking.”
He settled back into that uncanny stillness. Bea tried once more to come up with a response to this turn of events, settled for being grateful she hadn’t peed herself with terror.
Yet.
No clock in this big bare room, no tick-tocks to measure out time’s subjective flow. Only the silence, the faint whooshing of warmed air. Was he breathing? Even with his eyes mostly closed he was clearly watching her, an unblinking catlike gaze tangling with her own.
No sir, this chicken won’t be hypnotized.
She hurriedly looked away, but that was a mistake too because the thought that he might suddenly slither under the bed and she would miss the initial warning motion was almost as horrifying as ditty-bopping through a bathroom door to find a monster in her motel room.
It took work to peel her hand away from her mouth. Her vision blurred; why did she fucking cry every time she was scared?
Her teeth wanted to chatter. It took two tries to form recognizable words. “Just kill me,” she croaked. “I staked you, fair enough. Just get it over with.”
His eyes closed fully, then slowly opened. “Why would I do that?”
Bea might have thought he was honestly baffled. His little green henchman had played with her brother for months, though, slowly breaking down Jare’s sanity. So she wasn’t fooled one bit. “You want to torture me? Nothing could be worse than what you’ve already done. Just kill me.”
“I have...wronged you, somehow.” Thoughtfully, as if this was the first he’d heard of a distressing factory accident.
He probably used that expression a lot in meetings; ‘Chris Everly’ was known to be exceptionally low-key.
Reclusive was the word they used—even the local tabloids had better subjects to lie breathlessly about. “Tell me, so I may make amends.”
Oh, you sonofabitch. Cats played with their food, bloodsuckers were probably the same way.
It might even be natural behavior in the ecology of the weird.
Sasquatches were sometimes thought to be Neanderthals or ape-related, too; there were some questions whether the aliens abducting folks were extraterrestrial or extradimensional.
Her brain kept leaping from question to question, all of life’s imponderables now likely to remain unsolved.
Because she would be dead soon, that much was certain.
The plan had completely, utterly, undeniably failed.
The worst thing was feeling ridiculous, hiding half-naked under a bed.
She couldn’t decide if this was an occupational hazard she should have been aware of, or just a sign of her own ineptitude.
Beatrice Dunlevy did not mind being frightened so much, but humiliation was another thing entirely.
Another long silence. She glared at him, though her heart hammered so hard his shadow swelled and wavered, blocking winter daylight on that side of the bed. Through it all he regarded her somberly, and even had the gall to look expectant.
Fine. Jare swore I could irritate anyone to murder, I’m about to do my level best. “You’d rather hand me over to your little green henchmen, right?
Let them dissect me alive. Do you watch, and record it for later?
Snuff films—is that how you get your kicks?
The internet must be a playground for guys like you. ”
His teeth were very white; the smile was broad and apparently genuine. The shape of his jaw had shifted slightly, and the fangs were no cheap special effect or magic dentistry. They looked completely natural, as if blunt human chompers were the deviation.
Oh god, they were true. All the stories are true. She was completely numb, Bea realized, too worn out to be more afraid. Maybe her fear gauge had busted.
“You’re very frightened.” Calm and even, as if discussing the weather, enunciating carefully because those multiple fangs looked extremely sharp. “I do not want to use the quietus again, but I will if I must. Would you prefer that?”
Maybe he’s more into psychological torture? She was probably going completely cuckoo; Bea wouldn’t rule it out. “Am I supposed to know what that means? Why don’t you give me my stake back and we can go for round two, huh? Or maybe you should call a few of your little green baldies to make it even.”
It sounded like whiny, terrified bravado instead of a movie-star prisoner of war daring his captors, not at all what she’d intended.
“Sorry.” A slight shake of his head, as the fangs retracted, morphing into regular, very white human teeth. “My control is not quite what it could be, and your attempt at aggressiveness is adorable. Or, no, they say cute now, don’t they? Cute.”
“Yeah, well, your Ivy League accent sucks and you’re too young to dress the way you do.” What the fuck am I really saying? It was both exhilarating and unnerving to have all her brain-mouth filters removed. Why had she ever watered down what she thought? What was the goddamn point?
If she’d been more aggressive, as the monster called it, she might have saved Jare. Bullied him out of that house, off that stinking mountain, and back into the sane, rational world she wished very badly she had never left.
“I know.” Gravely, as if in serious agreement. “Fortunately, you will teach me better.”
“What the fuck?” For a moment Bea was unsure if she’d said or just thought the words, but yes, it was official, she was past caring and everything was spilling right out of her mouth, willy-nilly. “Look, either kill me or let me go. I’m really tired of all this.”
“Ah. Well, neither of those choices are acceptable, little leman.”
What the fuck do lemons have to do with anything? “This is the part where you tell me how you’re going to torture me, right? Fine, if it gets you excited. Go ahead and talk.”
“This is extremely interesting, but your knee is bleeding.”
Bea froze. Was it true? She couldn’t tell, she was literally numb from the neck down, and who knew the cliché had a core of absolute truth?
All the same, it was not the sort of thing you wanted to hear a bloodsucking fangmonster say.
“God, ohGod,” she whispered, unable to even glance at her own body because if she looked away he might wriggle under the bed and get her.
The sudden mental images were hi-def Technicolor, and she knew, with miserable certainty, that she was about to start screaming and never stop.
The monster moved.
* * *
Things went blank for a moment—like a glitch while streaming music, a sudden cessation.
The next thing Bea knew she was flat on her back, propped on a mound of blue pillows, blankets tucked tight as mummy bandages.
The sense of constriction forced her into panicked motion; she scrambled into a crouch, the mattress giving a faint whisper as it shifted.
The bed was a soft cavern, the wall of windows bright with orangeish citylight.
Nighttime. And she was...oh, Christ, she was in the Everly building.
Wrapped around the knee she’d scraped in the elevator was a bright white bandage, gauze packed solicitously against something that hurt like rugburn. It was a nice job, but looking at the pale blot caused a rush of nausea so intense she choked.
So the level beyond ‘crying scared’ is ‘vomit scared’. Good to know.
A soft warm breeze ruffled her hair, thrilled along the slip’s hem. Something loomed next to her in the darkness.