by Ray Garton
“Broadway?"
Benedek blinked up at the younger man. “Yeah."
“Stabbed in the neck?"
“That's the one. You gotta good memory, Burkett."
“Not really,” he said, standing beside Benedek and leaning toward the computer. His thin fingers clattered over the keys as he said, “The reason I remember this one is that it was kinda weird."
“How so?"
Burkett backed away from the computer and a brief article flashed on the screen in amber print.
“Holy shit,” Benedek breathed.
The body of Cedric Palacios, a convicted pimp found stabbed to death Thursday, was stolen from the Bellevue morgue this morning. The thief's Motive and method of entering remain a mystery. With no sign of a break-in and...
Perching himself on the corner of the desk, Burkett studied Benedek's face with interest.
“Hey, Walter, you on to something?"
Benedek shook his head slowly without taking his eyes from the screen. “They ever catch the killer?” he asked.
Burkett popped another bubble. “Nope. Doubt anybody cares. I mean, the guy was a pimp, you know?"
“You remember anything unusual about his death?"
“Well, let's see.” He got off the desk and turned to the computer again. In a moment, the piece reporting Cedric Palacios's murder appeared. Benedek read it quickly.
The knife wound had not been fatal. It had missed the jugular and Palacios might have lived.
If he hadn't bled to death.
The authorities assumed Palacios had been killed elsewhere, then moved to the trash bin because there had been so little blood around the body.
“Walter, you don't look so good,” Burkett said quietly. “You okay?"
“Just out of curiosity, Sal ... have you heard of anyone else dying like this? Bleeding to death, I mean?"
Burkett's face brightened. “You are on to something, Walter. You gonna need pictures?"
A long ash dropped from the end of Benedek's cigarette as he continued staring at the screen.
“Close the door on your way out, Sal."
“Oh. Okay.” He went to the door, turned, and said, “By the way, Walter, I'm really sorry about your—"
“See you in about ten days, Sal."
“Yeah. See you.” He closed the door quietly as he left.
Benedek pressed his dying cigarette into the bottom of the ashtray and lit another.
He didn't like what he was thinking. It was the kind of thinking that could land him in Central Park picking up old milk cartons and used rubbers with a pointy stick for a living.
As weird as his thoughts were, however, they made a frightening kind of sense.
Doris and Janice had bled to death, but there had been little blood in the apartment.
Cedric Palacios had bled to death, but little blood had been found around the body.
But he's alive and waiting tables, for Christ's sake! Benedek thought. He's fucking lonely middle-aged women in dark little rooms! Then, an unwelcome thought occurred to him: Unless he's not really alive at all...
Within seconds, Vernon's corpse had reached an advanced state of decay, as if he'd died weeks ago.
Maybe he did...
And Davey Owen...
I think she bit me, he'd said, and now I'm sick.
Benedek snatched the telephone receiver from its cradle and called Jackie.
“'Lo?” she answered groggily.
“Hi, hon. Sorry to wake you, but it's kind of important. Do me a favor?"
“Where are you?"
“My office. Check the answering machine and see if there are any messages for me."
“Just a second."
He waited while she listened to the recordings.
“Riley called,” she said finally. “He wants to talk to you tomorrow. And someone named Casey Thorne called. Says she's a friend of Davey's and that he's really sick. She sounded worried and said something about seeing your wife the doctor. Walter, have you been generously offering my services without—"
“Did she leave a number?” he asked urgently.
“No, the tape—"
"Shit! Look, Jackie, I gotta go. I may call you later. This guy might need to see you."
“What's wrong with—"
“I don't know yet. Thanks. Love you.” He hung up as he stood and dashed from the office.
Downstairs he caught a cab to Davey's and offered the driver twenty bucks if he would erase his memory of all traffic laws for the duration of the ride.
Benedek was trembling and very afraid.
Only after they had finished did Davey realize it had not been a dream. His lips were sticky and his mouth tasted of blood. The cold air from the open window helped clear his head, although he felt very dizzy, and by the time Anya rose from the bed, he was quite alert.
She went into the bathroom and returned with a wet rag.
“Get away from me,” Davey said.
“I just want to clean the—"
“Get away and stay away!” He sat up against the headboard. “You've given me something, you've ... you're sick, you have...” He wiped his mouth and looked away from her.
Standing at the foot of the bed, Anya laughed as she pushed a long strand of black hair from her face. She dropped the rag onto the bed.
“You think I have a venereal disease?" she asked cheerfully. “Come, Davey, you're no fool. What do you think I've been doing these last few days? How do you think I got to your ninth-floor window? And Davey.” She moved to the side of the bed. “Why do you think I left that scrapbook beside the bed today? Do you think that was an accident?"
“What have you done to me?"
She smiled. “I've given you a new life, Davey. A life of endless potential and power you've never—"
“Go away!"
“No. You shouldn't be alone tonight. The transfusion is complete and you'll—"
“Transfusion?"
She sat on the bed, reached over, and wiped a bit of blood from the corner of his mouth with her finger. Sliding the finger into her mouth, she licked off the blood and smiled.
“The blood in your veins,” she whispered, “is no longer your own. It's the blood of gods, Davey, and it's changing you. Right this instant. Tonight, you will die. And when you wake, you will have—"
“Get the hell away from me!” he screamed, turning his back to her. He pulled the covers over himself and curled up beneath them. He felt her get off the bed.
“I'd rather not leave you alone, Davey,” she said softly. “Some things will come instinctively, but others ... But then, if you insist. You know, Davey, I didn't do this to you. You allowed it. As I said before, you're a very weak man."
He wanted to shut out her voice, but it was so low and smooth, so very soothing.
“I'll see you again soon, Davey Owen."
He opened his mouth to tell her to stay away, that he never wanted to see her again, she was fucking crazy and sick, and he just wanted to get better, Goddammit, but before he could speak there was a strange shift in the air, an odd swirling.
Davey rolled over to see something flutter away outside the window and finally it hit him, a cold, almost tangible fear that swallowed him whole, the feeling of plummeting down a bottomless pit with nothing to hold on to and no hope of breaking the fall if the bottom came, and all the wind gushed from his lungs as he tried to sit up, his vision blurred and his head felt disconnected from his body, and all control left him so he wet himself as he stood and staggered away from the bed, groping for support, but falling on his face with the sound of thunder in his skull, and he tried to scream but he couldn't because there wasn't enough air, he couldn't get his breath, and when he pushed against the floor to lift himself, the room spun and fell and he cried out softly but his voice caught in his throat and he retched and spit bile onto the floor.
Tonight, you will die.
Through the pounding in his ears, Davey heard a knock at the door. He turned himself painfully toward the b
edroom doorway. The knock came again.
“Davey?” It was a man.
He opened his mouth and tried to speak but could only gasp fragments of words.
“He ... hel ... help ... plea ... pleeeaa ..."
His insides seemed to be collapsing, his body felt as if it were turning in on itself. His blurred vision darkened until he could see no more than shards of soft light.
“Davey, it's Walter Benedek! Let me in!"
He wanted to slam a fist to the floor, hoping he would be heard, but his hands would not clench. When he tried to inhale, he retched again and felt as if his stomach were ripping open.
Walter Benedek continued pounding on the door and the sound bored through Davey's skull like a drill.
Tonight, you will die.
Breath would not come, it was cut off completely, and when he closed his eyes, he saw blinding flashes of red as he began to disappear, like a morning fog slowly clearing away, and his guts began to dissolve in a bubbling mass inside him. The voice and the pounding fell farther and farther away...
“Davey? It's Wal ... nedek ... me in, Da..."
And even the red began to dim until there was nothing and Davey Owen was no more.
Benedek cursed through his teeth as he fumbled the picks into the lock, hoping that, despite the fact that this was not a secure building, Davey had no bolts on the door because the picks would do no good in that case and he had to get in, something was very wrong.
The lock clicked, Benedek turned the knob and pushed the door open. Inside, the dark apartment was freezing cold and the air was damp.
“Davey? It's Walter."
Benedek's joints felt stiff. He was afraid to look around, afraid of what he might find. He couldn't bear the sight of any more blood.
“Davey?"
He stepped hesitantly into the kitchen.
Nothing.
The bathroom was empty.
He's in the bedroom, Benedek told himself, you know he is, that's why you're avoiding it.
Davey Owen was lying on the floor, his naked body twisted as if he'd been struggling against something. His eyes and mouth were open but Benedek knew immediately that he was dead.
Cold air blew rain through the open window and the curtains flapped against the wall as Benedek knelt beside Davey and touched his throat for a pulse.
There was none. His skin was cold, as if he'd been dead for some time.
Unable to stand the cold any longer, Benedek went to the window, closed it, and did a double take at the pane. Something had cut the glass in long streaks, something outside the window. The cuts were grouped together by fours, almost as if a human hand had clawed and run down the glass.
He turned away from the window and crossed the room, muttering “Son of a bitch" as he turned to Davey's body again. He leaned against the wall, thinking about the piece he'd read on his computer.
The body of Cedric Palocios ... stolen from the Bellevue morgue this morning ... no sign of a break-in.
What had Vernon said about a sacrifice?
My life was a small sacrifice to get here. Killing Doris? Killing Janice? A very, very small price, Walter.
Benedek fingered his lower lip as he stared at Davey. He went to him and checked his pulse again. Nothing. He put a hand over Davey's mouth. No breath. He was definitely dead.
Apparently, someone had thought Cedric Palacios was definitely dead, too. Dead enough to put in a morgue drawer. But he wasn't dead anymore.
He wasn't stolen from the morgue, Benedek thought. He got up and walked out.
That was a possibility too insane to consider. But it was beginning to make perfect sense to Benedek.
I'm not the same man who married your sister, Walter, Vernon had said. Not the same man at all.
Benedek paced around the body as he thought.
How dead was Davey Owen? Dead enough to have no pulse, no breath, but was he dead enough to stay that way?
Benedek stopped his pacing and looked frantically around the room until he spotted the curtain cords. He went to the window, grasped one of the cords, and pulled down hard. The rod fell to the floor, the curtains bunched in a heap. He freed the cords and went back to the still body on the floor.
He tied the hands and feet tightly, then sat on the bed, lit a cigarette, and watched Davey, waiting.
Casey awoke in darkness. The air was stale and sweet smelling. She felt a hand on her thigh and realized she was naked.
A man spoke: “Do you want me to go down and get—"
“No,” a woman interrupted. Her voice was deep, rich. “I want this one to stay with us."
Footsteps. A door closed quietly.
“Are you hurt?” the woman asked, gently passing her hand up and down Casey's thigh.
“No, I'm...” She tried to sit up and found that she had been tied. She jerked her shoulders up hard, tried to kick her legs. “Let me go!"
“You'll only hurt yourself if you struggle. I'm not going to harm you. Just relax; lie back and relax.” She continued stroking Casey's thigh, moving her hand higher and higher. “My name is Shideh. Who are you?"
“Get your fucking hand off me!” Casey spat. She could see nothing more than a vague shape over her in the darkness and an occasional glimmer of red. “What...” Her voice broke and she took in a breath. “What do you want?"
Casey felt more than saw the figure lean close to her. She felt hot breath on her ear as Shideh spoke.
“Your friendship."
“My...” Casey was incredulous. Her head burned with anger and she pulled uselessly against her bindings again. “What the fu—"
With a startling scratch, a match flame hissed to life in the darkness. Its halo of soft light was passed to the wick of a candle so black the flame seemed to be burning on the end of a shadow. The yellow glow flickered over Shideh's face, making shadows dance beneath her sharp cheekbones and sparkling in her blood-red eyes.
The woman's gaze grabbed Casey and held.
“What's your name?"
Casey opened her mouth, intending to curse her, but all that came out was, “Ca ... Casey Thorne."
“Thorne,” she said, hissing the name. “Pretty as a rose, but your name is Thorne.” She placed a cool hand on the side of Casey's face.
Shideh's pale, animal-like face seemed to fade away until all Casey could see were her red eyes and her tiny black pupils that seemed to open to her like waiting arms.
“I was going to kill you, Casey Thorne. You made me very angry. But you have such a pretty face. Such lively eyes. You must have a beautiful smile, Casey. Will you smile for me?"
Casey felt the hand slide down her face, over her throat, to her breast. The thumb lightly brushed her nipple and it hardened instantly. Unable to resist, Casey smiled at the eyes, at the same time repulsed at herself for giving in. If she could only look away from those eyes...
“A beautiful smile,” Shideh whispered; her voice was like the caress of a skinless hand. “I won't harm that smile. Would you like to stay with me awhile, Casey?” she asked, pressing her fingers between Casey's legs.
No! Casey heard her own voice scream inside her head, but the eyes held like a silk-covered vise.
Shideh leaned forward and kissed Casey's throat.
Casey closed her eyes, but the image of those two red orbs, deep and unblinking, remained.
“I can teach you things,” Shideh whispered, flicking her tongue over Casey's ear. “I can do things to you that you never thought were possible.” She nibbled Casey's earlobe, sucked on it. “I can make you into something you never dreamed you could be.” She touched her tongue to the corner of Casey's mouth.
“Immortal...” and kissed her gently
“...undying...” then slid her tongue into Casey's mouth, around and around
“...and sooo powerful..."
Casey's mind reeled at Shideh's touch, at her deep and lingering kiss, at the odd sensation of her sharp teeth against her upper lip. She was vaguely aware of the sickening di
sgust inside her, the urge to bite and scream and pull away, but it was weak as a distant memory.
“It's been so long,” Shideh hissed, moving her mouth down Casey's throat, over her breast, to her nipple, “since I've taken a lover."
Shideh's cool tongue swirled over Casey's nipple, pulled it into her mouth, and sucked on it with vigor.
Casey couldn't speak. Tears welled in her eyes and she sobbed once quietly as the woman's mouth moved over her stomach and settled between her legs. The tongue slipped out again and wedged itself inside her, where it lapped slowly, dipping in and out of her opening. She could hear the slurping and sucking sounds the woman made, the moan of pleasure that came from her as she continued to lick and gulp.
In spite of herself, ripples of pleasure passed up through Casey's body, but she remained unaffected by them, tried to suppress them, ignore them.
Shideh's teeth flicked over Casey's clitoris and the rush of feeling that came was warm and thick.
The woman spoke and her words were muffled:
“...none like a woman's..."
Casey shuddered and involuntarily lifted her pelvis, pressing it to Shideh's mouth.
Her lips writhed over Casey's pubis, the tongue was relentless, and she sucked, and sucked...
Casey's orgasm made her cry out with pleasure and anger, frustration, helplessness.
Shideh moved over her, slid her tongue back up Casey's belly and over her breasts, stopping now and then to kiss her skin gently, until her face was above Casey's, her breasts pressing to Casey's breasts. Her white hair draped down around Casey's face.
In the candle's shifting light, Casey watched Shideh lift a hand to her own throat and press her thumbnail against her flesh until it cut through. She pulled her thumb downward, cutting a slit that immediately began to bleed. Locking her hands together beneath Casey's head, Shideh lifted it to her throat.
Casey's lips slid over the warm, sticky wound and her tongue slipped into the gash. Instinctively, she tried to pull back.
“No!” Shideh breathed, holding Casey's mouth to her throat. “Suck it! Suck it now, before it closes!"
She tasted blood and gagged once, but then found herself doing as she was told.
Like whiskey, the blood was pleasantly hot going down. A relaxed warmth spread through her body and she whimpered at the luxurious feeling that clouded her head like a drug, pounding thunderously through her veins, eating its way into her bones.