He was getting testy and Carol knew she had to tread cautiously or everything was lost.
She turned towards him, letting her right breast brush against his arm. Her lips moved close to his ear and her hand to his pants. Through the light wool fabric she could feel that he was firm. She stroked the material gently. “Two nights? The weekend?” she breathed. She unzipped him and touched his penis lightly with the tip of her index finger. It was warm and solid, the skin a little waxy.
Carol forced herself to kiss his cheek, working towards his lips. She kissed them too but his mouth didn’t respond. But she felt his fingers intertwine with the strands of her hair. She ran the tip of her tongue across his upper lip, outlining it, and then back along the middle of his lower lip slowly, being as sensuous as she could. Still there was no reaction. But beneath her hand he was growing firmer and she felt encouraged that her tactics were working.
Suddenly he yanked her head back. He looked furious. “What are you, a professional whore?”
She felt stunned. The consequences of rejection could be deadly. “N-no,” she said softly, frightened, about to cry in frustration.
There was a pause and then he said, “All right. I’m intrigued.” While he fixed his clothes he said, “Two weeks.”
The thought of spending such a long time with him made her ill. But what else could she do but carry on this charade until she found a way to escape?
“You stay at my place and give yourself to me. The key word here, Carol, is ‘willingly’. Fourteen nights from now I drop you back in the city and you leave. Immediately. I can hypnotize you, but I won’t; no challenge. Besides, these will probably be the most exciting memories of your uninspired little life. I’d hate to cheat you of them. But don’t entertain any illusions. If you try to escape, and later, if you tell anyone about me, who or what I am, I will hunt you down. The rest I’ll leave to whatever shreds of imagination you possess.”
Carol nodded. “And you won’t take my blood?”
“Agreed!”
Thirty kilometres from the resort town of Soulac-sur-Mer the car left the highway for a gravel road. They headed towards the ocean and a large stone house. All the downstairs lights were on and it seemed bright, cheerful and inviting.
Just before the car stopped, André looked at her. “I told you I can drink without harming you. Why are you so eager to keep me from your blood?”
She turned away without answering.
Chapter Four
“Well, look what the bat dragged in!” A slim girl dressed in black and white in her early twenties with coppery hair and eyes the color of mocha truffles came over to Carol as soon as she and André entered the house.
“For me?” The girl reached out a pale hand towards Carol; a large matte-black plastic ring on her index finger was shaped like a painter’s pallet with little splashes of primary colors around the edge. Carol pulled back. “Gee, kiddo, you shouldn’t have!”
André stepped between them. “Gerlinde, butt out. Karl!”
The man he called came into the hallway. He was of medium build, also in his twenties. Both his hair and eyes were the color of silt, his clothing shades of brown. He looked serious, intellectual, his cheekbones prominent in a Germanic way. His eyes traveled to Carol’s bleeding foot.
“Call her off!” André said, annoyed.
Karl dragged his attention away from Carol’s wound to look at the girl named Gerlinde whose generous lips curled into a mock pout. The redhead stepped over to him, intertwined her arm with his then kissed him on the cheek, making sure to rub her body against his the way a cat would. “I was only teasing,” she purred. “He’s so uncool.” She winked and Karl laughed.
Something told Carol she would not be getting any help from those two. Still, she was about to demand, or at least beg that they let her go when an older woman came through another door.
Her long, loose snowy hair framed an oval face, setting off the pale blue caftan she wore. Her eyes were almond shaped and inquisitive, the color of lapis lazuli. She and André spoke to one another in French. They looked a little bit alike, the shape of their foreheads and jaws, the wide-set, intelligent eyes.
Carol glanced around the hallway. It was an old house.
In here the upper half of the walls were papered in subdued blue flowers, forget-me-nots, and the lower half wainscotted in varnished wood. The floor and stairs leading to the second floor were carpeted in light grey, accented by a polished oak banister.
A small chandelier hung above them and three little bronze lamps with amber glass globes were affixed to the walls. Four doors led off the hallway, all of them closed. She wondered which one led to the back door.
The older woman approached her and Carol sensed something odd about her, about all four of them. Their skin was a little too bright, almost reflective, and they each had the same mesmerizingly, nearly inhumanly attractive quality as André; four perfect life-like mannikins. Each exuded confidence, even haughtiness, but André was the most extreme.
The older woman looked Carol over, from head to toe, then smiled and said to André, “Elle est belle. Ne perds pas de temps à la baiser.” The others, including André, laughed.
“What did you say?” Carol demanded. She wasn’t going to let them play with her.
The woman turned to face her. She gazed deeply into Carol’s eyes and Carol felt herself being drawn into those liquid blue pools. The woman smiled again and the action animated her features, breaking the spell.
“I said you’re lovely. I also suggested that he bed you quickly, because you’re so ripe.”
Carol felt her face redden. Gerlinde giggled, revealing two incisors as long and pointed as André’s, shocking Carol to silence.
“Ummm!” The redhead licked her lips. “Nothing like a vampire in the sack,” she said when she could catch her breath. “Ohhh, when those long, thick fangs penetrate, it feels soooooo goooood!” She writhed and groaned.
The man named Karl laughed, revealing teeth even longer than Gerlinde’s. Carol was frightened. They know André’s crazy, she realized, and they’re just as crazy. The horrible idea came to her that this was one of those bizarre blood cults and she their next sacrifice. But she clipped that thought before it could take hold and fury surged. Unable to stop herself she blurted out, “What do you do for an encore, girlfriend, eat babies?”
Gerlinde stopped laughing but condescended to grant Carol a large smirk before leaving the hallway. “Come on, Karl, let’s get a good seat and catch the audio portion of this show.”
As they left, André gripped Carol’s arm firmly just above the elbow and led her to the steps. She was barefoot, her legs scratched and cut. The wound on her right foot seemed serious.
I hope I bleed all over their carpet! she thought.
At the top of the stairs they entered the first room on the right, really a room and a half. The smaller area had a dark green couch, a mahogany coffee table and a rose chair near the fireplace. The larger part was taken up with a cherry wood dresser and armoire, a small glass and brass vanity and, an antique brass bed, over which hung a large abstract canvas in muted colors. Everything was in shades of green and rose, except the carpet, which was teal. Off to one side was a bathroom.
Besides the door they entered by, there was one other, a closet, she suspected. That left the windows, none of which opened. That left the bathroom window, if there was one, although she couldn’t see it from this angle. The ceiling was lined with smoke detectors and a sprinkler system, as though fire was a big threat.
“This is where you’ll stay for the next two weeks,” André told her. “You’ll have to change your schedule to accommodate me—sleep during the day, awake at night. A servant will bring you meals. There will be food at other times as well. Don’t try to leave this room. Anyway, it’s impossible. The windows are Plexiglas—you can’t open or break them—and all doors leading out will be locked; everything is wired to an alarm system. I have the key to this room.”
/> “What if something happens to you?”
He grunted. “You wish.”
He walked towards the fireplace. “Do you know how to build a fire?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Make one now. And every night before I get here.”
Carol walked to the fireplace wondering what she had gotten herself into. Fear was clawing its way to the surface and she decided to concentrate on building the fire to stifle it. She parted the glass doors, checked that the flue was open then piled small sticks and pieces of newspaper which she crumpled onto the grate. Next to the fireplace were tools—a bellows, a small shovel, a poker.
When she had what she thought was enough, she asked, “Have any matches or would you like me to rub a couple of stones together?”
He took a box of long stick matches from the mantle and handed it to her saying, “An acid tongue, as caustic as my own.
We should get along well.”
She lit the little pile of debris and when it was blazing put on two smallish logs, nudging them into the position she wanted with the poker. Starting a fire wasn’t such a bad idea. The alarms would go off, the fire department might come and the sprinklers would, hopefully, keep her from being scorched. She could burn down the door and then...
“Don’t entertain the idea of burning your way out. The temperature in this house is carefully controlled and the sprinkler system designed to activate at the first hint of a temperature rise. It’s also designed to flood every room of the house.”
When the small logs caught she added a larger log, closed the doors and stood. She still had the poker in her hand.
“Take off your clothes!”
He was standing only three feet away and she felt intimidated. A quick rescan of the room told her there were no escape routes she’d missed. He could see she had the poker. What were the chances of hurting him when he was expecting an attack? And what would happen after, if she didn’t hurt him enough? Not good odds. She put the tool back into the stand.
Slowly she began removing her rain coat, then folded it over a nearby chair. She was wearing a plain cream-colored dress with long sleeves, a full skirt and a thin belt. She unbuttoned the dress, undid the belt then slid the dress down, stepping out of it. Slowly she folded the dress neatly and placed it on the seat of the chair. Next she took off the half slip in the same way, feeling embarrassed. His eyes were glued to her breasts as she unhooked her bra. Finally she eased her underpants down over her hips. She folded everything carefully, rearranged the items, and then moved the pile to the coffee table, stalling for time.
“I’ll take them with me,” he said, his eyes passing up and down her. She could almost feel waves of heat tickling her skin.
“I want you naked, waiting for me,” he said.
She felt shocked and her face must have reflected that.
“This is my fantasy we’re acting out, remember? Now undress me.”
She took two steps towards him, thinking, I should tell him I might be a carrier. But how can I bring it up now? What if he hurts me? She’d wait for a better moment.
He was wearing a light leather jacket and both it and his pants were slate, matching the color of his eyes. She removed the jacket and then the yellow shirt underneath. His chest was muscular and hairy, his shoulders broad; he looked in good shape, like an athlete, and she wondered if he lifted weights. She dropped down and pulled off his low cut boots and socks and then stood up. She was trying to be confidently sensual—this is only a role, she kept assuring herself—but, now that the moment had arrived to deliver on her end of the bargain, she was losing her nerve.
She unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants and pulled them and his briefs down his legs. His penis was erect. Again, playing for time, she folded each article of clothing and placed the pile neatly on the seat of a chair.
He took her by the shoulders and walked her backward until they were at the bed, then he pressed her down.
Her heart beat wildly and sour fear welled up from her stomach that she swallowed back down. He wasn’t hurting her. She had to remember that. It was late. This wouldn’t last long.
He straddled her chest and with a hand supporting her neck brought her head up. She knew what he wanted and used her mouth, aware again of the waxiness of his skin.
But soon he turned and flipped them both over so that she was on top. He pulled her down so he could lick and suck her while she did the same to him.
This isn’t so terrible, she tried to reassure herself. At least he isn’t brutal. And we’re not having intercourse so the risk of transmitting anything is very low. I’ll tell him soon.
He grew firmer and longer as she moved her lips along him.
And what he was doing to her felt good. His tongue darted in and out quickly and he licked her where she was swollen and sensitive, then in and out again. She could feel heat spreading up from her lips, burning her thighs, and she knew she was wet, dripping. He’s driving me crazy, she thought, astonished by her response.
She took in air through her nose in short, quick sniffs, feeling herself losing control. In moments too fast to remember, before she could stop him, he pushed her over onto her back, turned and entered her, his thrusts long and steady. She just had time to bend her knees and then she was moaning, pulling him close for his final thrust.
He stayed on top of her, inside her, and she drifted off to sleep, a bit dazed. But when he eased away, she opened her eyes a little and watched him through hazy slits. He was moving around the room, dressing, fixing the fire, gathering her clothes in his arms.
“Is André your real name?” she asked in a sleepy whisper.
He turned. She thought he looked different, paler, maybe more human. “Yes,” he said.
“Why do you think you’re some kind of vampire?” When he didn’t answer she said, “Look, I have to tell you something...” Suddenly he was gone.
He’s not so bad, were her last uncensored thoughts before sleep. He’s a little weird, but a good lover, better than Rob ever was. The chances of the virus being passed on in one encounter seemed pretty small. Tomorrow, she thought. I’ll tell him tomorrow.
Carol yawned, thinking, this could even turn out to be a nice two weeks.
She woke in the middle of the afternoon. The window in the bathroom was far too small to squeeze through, although it was the only one that might break; she’d already tried to break the two in the bedroom. He hadn’t lied. Both were Plexiglas, at least the inside windows, and neither opened. Outside were two more sheets of tinted glass. The door was still locked.
She showered, ate some of the fruit, bread and cheese she found on the coffee table, then wrapped herself in a large green bath towel. An early Robert Ludlum and a few magazines in English kept her occupied until evening. Just after sunset, as she was sitting looking at the pictures in an old issue of Paris Passion, a burly woman who did not look like the others brought in a tray of food. Stocky and dark-haired, she seemed completely focused on what she was doing. She locked the door behind her, hung the key around her neck and let it drop under her dress. She set the tray on the table.
Carol jumped up. “Look, you’ve got to let me out. Help me,” she said slower and louder, pointing to the door.
The woman’s eyes showed no understanding; she did not appear to have heard Carol. Either she’s deaf or has instructions not to respond, Carol thought.
The woman headed for the door and as she unlocked it, Carol dashed across the room. They struggled. The woman shoved Carol hard inside so she could close the door and relock it behind her.
Carol sighed and plunked down into a chair. She lifted the warming lid off the plate and found a steaming bowl of stew made from veal, potatoes and carrots. There was also homemade bread and a pot of Jasmine tea. She ate it all, hungrier than she realized.
After she finished she tried the door. It was locked. For something to do she looked out one of the windows. The ocean was so quiet from inside this sound-proofed room. The powerful tide
had receded leaving the grey waters calm. From one angle she could see the garage. André and a man in a chauffeur’s uniform went in and then the silver limousine pulled out. Then she saw Gerlinde, Karl and the older woman leave in a small green sports car. They had all gone and this was the time to make a break.
She picked up a chair and smashed it against a window. It bounced back as if the glass was rubber. She hit the window again. Nothing. Half a dozen more tries told her these windows were built to withstand more force than she could provide. In the process she’d broken one of the chair legs.
Next she tried to pick the door’s lock. She bent the tines of the fork and tried to work the lock, but didn’t know what she was doing and that, too, proved impossible.
She thought about trying to burn down the door but she had the feeling he wasn’t lying about the sprinkler system. And there was the possibility she could burn herself to a crisp in the process.
The hours wore on but he did not return. She checked her watch against the clock chiming downstairs nine times. Ten o’clock then eleven o’clock came and went. She was getting nervous, impatient, pacing the room. She’d already made a fire and was running out of logs.
Carol found herself anticipating what was to come. I must be nuts, she told herself, because I want to see him again. Even thinking about the sex last night sent shivers through her. Why not? she thought. Here’s your wildest fantasy. Locked away, a prisoner, abandoning yourself to a rich French lover for two weeks. He’s okay, even if he thinks he’s a vampire. Taking a little blood wasn’t the worse thing she’d heard of. She’d met lots of people in theater who were pretty delusional, some even made a career of it. And that old man, he probably did die of a heart attack. Besides, she smiled to herself, I don’t have a choice, slightly embarrassed that she could even think in such a politically incorrect way. But secretly she entertained the wild hope of letting go here the way she’d never quite been able to with Rob or the two men she had slept with before him. But then none of them had been like André. He was so direct, almost animal-like, that it forced her to feel more physical, which was both exciting and disturbing. The others had all been nice enough, though not exactly passionate. In fact with Rob sex had been based largely on his preferences; mainly oral except when she insisted otherwise. At the time she had felt disappointed, vaguely troubled by a feeling that something was missing and she was settling for less. Now she wished they had never had intercourse. I don’t have anything left to lose, she thought. Maybe there’s something to gain.
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