Chapter 16 Explanations and Excuses
Istep through the ropes of the casino’s rich area of clientele.
Looking around quickly, I don’t see Scarlett.
I head for the bar and order a drink. The bartender delivers it easily and then I sip it as I watch the men play their game at the table.
The women mill about them or sit in their laps.
A few I didn’t see last time I was here sit on the other end of the bar.
I’m desperate. I need to see her. To explain everything. Even if she shows up tonight, I really don’t even know what I will say to her. How can I explain that I love the feel of blood on my skin? That killing people to be coated in their life force is worth the risk.
I don’t think that will work for her. But the cops haven’t shown up at my place or found me to arrest me. Did she not turn me in to the police?
I sip my drink, the fruity tasting alcohol coating my tongue with its taste.
The room narrows to only the entrance and anyone that comes through those ropes.
So when it opens and a woman in red comes through, I can’t help but stare in awe as Scarlett is there.
She’s wearing that same dress that she wore the first night we met.
The red is so deep and dark that it screams blood colored.
The same thing I thought about when I first met her.
It makes my mouth water just watching her.
Waiting for her to come over to the bar where I’m waiting.
I don’t move. Don’t breathe. I’m treating her like a skittish deer that will bolt if I move an inch.
She approaches my position at the bar, and I look down at my drink as Scarlett orders something for herself. She is standing next to the stool instead of sitting on it. She wants a quick way to escape me. That hurts. She doesn’t want to be around me now.
Can I really blame her? I killed someone in front of her. I killed that man. I took his life right there in that hotel room and didn’t think twice. I fucked up. Can I fix things with her?
“Tell me what you have to say.”
Scarlett doesn’t look at me as she lifts her glass to her lips. I don’t even know what to say. I didn’t plan anything to tell her. I don’t even know where to begin.
“I don’t know what to say. I know what you saw me do. I know you don’t understand what I did.”
I talk even though I know I’m rambling.
“That I did something so wrong and I should turn myself in, but you have to understand why I did it.”
She doesn’t talk. Just listens to me as she drinks from her glass.
“Can we go somewhere else that is a little more private? Please.”
I glance at the women at the other end of the bar. If they overheard what I had to say…
Scarlett glances over at me and then sighs heavily. She nods and then leaves her glass half empty on the counter as she leads the way from the room. I follow her quickly. Not willing to miss my chance to talk to her in private. To take this chance to tell my side of things.
Will she understand where I’m coming from? Can she forgive me? Move past this and then still give me the time of day. Will she condemn me and call the cops to the hotel to grab me? Is that what this really is? Is she going to try and get some type of confession from me? Is she wearing a wire?
We take the elevator up to the eighth floor where her room is. The same one I went to that first night I met her. The same one that we spent all night with each other. I miss the simplicity of that.
The door shuts behind us, and then we are alone. Scarlett sighs and drops her keycard and phone on the table beside the doorway. I know she doesn’t want to do this. I’m surprised that she’s even willing to meet me, let alone be alone with me.
She walks over to the couch along the far wall and takes a seat as she crosses her arms and then her legs. Her dress hugs her figure, and I’m practically salivating. It’s not the time. I need to explain. To figure out how to tell her what I’ve done.
“Go ahead. You asked to explain, so do it. Tell me all the little excuses you have for what you’ve done.”
Her words spur me into motion as I drop to my knees at her feet. If I have to beg, then I will. If I have to do whatever it takes, then I will.
“Have you turned me in?”
“No.”
The one-word answer is all I need to hear as a large sigh escapes my chest.
“Why?”
I shouldn’t ask her. She doesn’t need to explain her motives to me. I should be explaining everything to her. Yet, I ask her the question that I hope she answers.
“Doesn’t matter. Tell me what you need to tell me that’s so important.”
“I want you to understand what you saw…”
“I know what I saw. You killed a man. What more is there?”
She interrupts me before I can finish. She isn’t wrong. I killed him.
“Yes. I did. It started with this photoshoot at work that I did. I’ve always had an obsession with the tale of Elizabeth Bathory.”
“The vampire lady?” She asks with a hint of horror in her voice.
“Some have called her that. She was always a fascinating story for me. I was asked to do this calendar shoot, and I chose the holiday for National Occult Day on November 18th. I wanted to do a shoot similar to what she did. I wanted something supernatural, such as vampires, and yet not. So I chose her. I chose a blood bath with several women.”
“How did a photoshoot turn into murder, Letty?”
“The fake blood was so captivating to me. I wanted to know if the real thing would look or feel the same. I wanted to know what it felt like, smelled like, and if the real thing would give me the same reaction I had during the photoshoot.”
“So you decided to murder people!?”
“I mean… yeah. I did. I know it’s wrong, but I needed to know. Then when I felt it and the high it gave me… I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t control the feeling anymore. I wanted it like my very breath that is inside of me and fuels my body. It’s an addiction I didn’t know I needed.”
“An addiction. Something that you can’t control, right?”
“Essentially. Can I stop? Maybe. I didn’t want to. It feels so fucking good.”
“Were you planning on killing me when we first met?”
I hesitated, but that was enough for her to know the answer. Her eyes burn with both rage and betrayal. I sigh and look down at the floor. I know I’ve fucked up. She was a target for me. Then she called me sir and Daddy. She brought out feelings inside me that trumped that bloodlust.
“I’m sorry. I wanted that. I dreamed of your blood on my body. I quickly fell for you. It changed. Rather quickly.”
“So because you had feelings for me, you didn’t murder me? What the fuck!?”
She looks offended, and yet there is something else there. Something deep in her eyes. She isn’t as scared of me as I thought she would be. She almost seems… I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it. Something is different with us, and it’s more than just her catching me murdering that man.
“Get out. I’m done with this conversation.”
Her words make me freeze in place. Perhaps I need to show her what I do. What it makes me feel. Will she understand it then?
Can I make her see exactly what I feel when I do this? She isn’t scared of me and she hasn’t turned me into the cops. Those two things are both signs that maybe, just maybe, I can make this okay again. That I can save us.
I have no choice but to save us.