Rebecca sat, leaning against the cold, concrete wall, naked, an iron ring on her wrist, scabby, red rivulets of blood running down her breast.
Daniel's coming!
She couldn't tell is he was hungry or not. Having a ready meal, he was seldom hungry. But she could usually tell if he was. Same way she could tell when he was around.
She wasn't a vampire, had no craving for blood. But since he'd fed on her all these days? weeks?, she'd developed a sense of these things. Perhaps it was backwash. A little bit of him in her.
Feed or be fed?
Turned out to be a bit of both.
He knelt by her, set the pan on the floor, leaned in close and sank his fangs into her neck ... again. The feeding left her weak and she flopped over onto her side.
He stroked her hair.
"Not much longer, little one, not much longer."
Rebecca laid there, the words echoing in her head. She pushed herself up, yelped, collapsed from the pain in her hand.
She'd dislocated her thumb skiing a couple of months back. Dislocated it again soon after, tripping while going up the stairs. The doctor had given her a soft cast, but she didn't wear it. It itched.
She managed to push herself up into a sitting position. She had to eat. The other girl stopped eating and now she was gone. As long as she ate, she'd stay alive.
She forced a spoonful of gruel into her mouth, tipped her head back and chewed, forced herself to swallow. Ever since the other girl had disappeared, small chunks of meat had showed up in her food. The thought, the possibility, made her want to vomit, but Rebecca chewed and swallowed. As long as she ate, she'd stay alive.
After her 'meal' she sat, eyes closed, half dozing. She yanked at the ring on her left wrist for the thousandth time. She had rubbed it to bleeding the first few days in frantic, desperate, tugging. It was so loose, so very loose, but still wouldn't come off. Would not come off.
Rebecca rubbed her hand. Her thumb ached; rubbing didn't help, but it was something to do.
She didn't remember hurting it the first time. Just falling and getting up in pain. The second time she watched it happen. The doctor had described the mechanics of a dislocation and as she fell forward she saw her hand hit the edge of the stair, thought 'oh no' and sure enough ...
She had the image of her bruised hand. It looked like she had no thumb at all the way it retracted into her palm ... retracted into her palm.
Rebecca looked at her hand, the loose iron ring, just a hair too tight, if only ...
She recalled the doctor's description, how the joint worked, what went where and why her thumb had come out. She hesitated only a moment, gripped her thumb, twisted, pulled.
She shrieked.
Breathing hard, she wrapped her hand around the thumb again, twisted and pulled - harder.
"Oh god! Oh God, oh God, oh God."
She lay panting.
"Oh God. Please, God."
Once more she gripped her thumb. She gritted her teeth, putting every ounce of her being into it. Pulled. Her scream echoed in the small room.
Rebecca collapsed on the floor, sobbing, gasping for breath. Moments passed.
She raised hand, expecting it to look perfectly normal - it wasn't.
"Oh God! Yes! Yes! Thank you God."
Rebecca tugged at the ring. It wouldn't come off.
Whimpering, sobbing, she pulled and pulled, desperate, frantic.
There was the sound of metal on stone. Rebecca sat there, panting, staring. Her mind not registering. And then ... "Yes!"
She pushed herself up onto her knees. She stood. Her world spun. Rebecca braced herself on the wall, staggered over to the pile of clothes in the corner. She rummaged through them for a minute looking for her things, then, terrified, she grabbed a skirt and sweater. She yanked them on.
Neither fit; so what.
Clutching the ill-fitting garments, Rebecca stumbled to the door. It was unlocked!
She found herself in a basement. It looked like a normal basement: water heater, furnace, washer, dryer, a stairway, and a locked door. Rebecca unbolted the door, swung it open. There were stone stairs leading up and, above, a bulkhead. She slid the bolt and pushed the lid open.
Air! Fresh, warm, moist, summer air. And the sun so bright she could barely see.
Rebecca gathered the clothes around herself and ran.
***
He's near.
She found the girl first. A chubby little brunette. Alone.
Rebecca scanned the crowd, backtracked the girl's path. There he was!
Average. Totally average. Looked like a college student. Torn jeans, scruffy hair. But there was an intensity in his eyes. A feral intensity. The eyes of a predator.
The brunette veered this way and that, he followed her, anticipated her moves, closed in.
He's not hungry. Just wants sex.
Rebecca cracked open the mini-bottle, drank half of the whisky down, sloshed he rest around in her mouth, swallowed, set a course to intercept him.
She came up on his blind side, stumbled into him.
"Oops! Sorry. My bad."
He gripped her arm, steadied her.
"You okay?"
Rebecca waved her hand.
"Yeah. Sorry about that."
She stumbled as she turned. He caught her arm again.
"Ooh! You're strong ... and handsome, too."
She gave him a sloppy smile, then turned, but he kept his grip.
"You sure you're okay?"
Rebecca closed her eyes for a moment, shook her head.
"No. Definitely not okay. Drive me home?"
He guided her through the lot, up to a black Vette. Rebecca noted the car and the license tag.
"No. No," she said fishing keys from her pocket. "My car. My home."
She steered him to another spot in the lot. He clicked the button, Rebecca's car chirped, the lights flashed.
"There," she said, pointing.
In the car she took his hand.
"Becky."
"Tod. Nice to meet you."
Rebecca belched. "You too. And thanks."
"No problema."
'Tod' turned the key and drove out of the lot.
Rebecca guided him the six blocks to her house - a cute little bungalow she'd bought last year. Nestled in a nice, quiet neighborhood. Beautiful glassed in sun room in front. Perfect.
He drove around back, pulled the car into the driveway.
Rebecca was steadier on her feet, but he still kept a hand on her arm, guided her into the house.
Not hungry. Definitely not hungry. That's a good thing.
In the living room, she was in his arms in an instant. He had his hands up under her sweater, squeezing her breasts. His kisses tasted like clove. She hated clove, those clove cigarettes that were all the rage.
After a bit of kissing and groping, Rebecca sank to her knees. She undid his jeans, pulled out his cock. She stroked it. She pushed him back down onto the couch and settled between his knees. She sucked him, raking his cock with her nails, running her smiley-face, tongue stud along the underside of his shaft.
She pulled his shaft further up, slurped one of his balls into her mouth. She sucked it while she tugged his cock. He made all the right sounds.
He grabbed her hair and pulled her up so she could suck him some more.
"Hold that thought. I have to pee."
Rebecca pushed herself to her feet and made her way into the bathroom.
She looked at her reflection, registered the resolve on her face, swapped out the smiley-face tongue stud.
Back in the living room, Rebecca settled on the floor again, tickled his cock with the tip of her tongue, pursed her lips and sucked his ball into her mouth - he shrieked.
An other-worldly shriek. Part scream, part shriek, part howl, part something no living person has ever heard.
He tried to push her away, but Rebecca set her teeth. His testicle was locked in her mouth. There were sizzling and popping sounds, the smell of burning, rotten flesh, and the taste. God, the taste. Rebecca fought the nausea.
He gripped her hair, tried to yank her away, but she held on. He started cuffing her. Each blow making her ears ring. Rebecca held on as long as she could then allowed herself to be batted away.
He fell to the floor, curled in a ball, clutching his crotch - squealing.
Rebecca reached under the couch, grabbed the heavy-duty irons, locked them to his wrists. A short chain connected them to a second set, and, in his position, locking them to his ankles was easy.
She rocked back, grabbed the chain, and dragged him through the living room.
She had bought the house for the solarium. Situated on the knob of a hill, it got full sun all day.
She locked the chain to a ring set into the floor. It was actually bolted through several floor beams. He wasn't going anywhere. They may be strong, but they're not that strong.
The glass was soundproof. It was frightfully expensive, but she had explained to the guy that she needed silence, and he obliged, no questions.
Rebecca locked the door.
She'd watched Brian die. It was both satisfying and haunting. It didn't happen like in the movies, not instantaneous. It took a while. And all the while the cursed shrieking.
Rebecca went into the bathroom. She rinsed her mouth several times, not that it did much good. The smell was in the air and the taste remained ... and the memories of the others.
She removed the large, silver, cross-shaped tongue stud, cleaned it. She slipped the smiley-face stud back into place.
Later, she would go fetch his car. She had his id and keys. She'd go to his house, take what she could. These guys didn't do bank accounts, so she was sure to find a pretty decent stash. She might find a girl in his basement. She'd drop her off at the E.R. That had happened twice so far.
Rebecca stuck out her tongue, looked at the smiley-face stud.
She didn't feel much like smiling, but she felt good ... real good.
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