Bright-red blood spurted from his torn lip and his head snapped back at the unexpected blow, cracking the window behind him.
He howled in pain and anger, never having had this much trouble from a Normal woman before. With a mighty sweep of his good right arm, he backhanded her, snapping her head back against the door frame and knocking her unconscious.
Breathing deeply, he sleeved blood off his lip with his arm and rubbed his forehead. He vowed to make this bitch pay for all the trouble she was causing him.
The sound of a police siren in the distance reminded him that he didn’t have unlimited time to enjoy this wench, so he decided to get on with it.
He reached over and placed the claws of both hands under the edge of Catherine’s blouse and ripped it from her body, exposing a lacy white bra barely containing her soft, pink flesh. With one claw he sliced through the clasp and the bra parted, revealing small but shapely breasts.
Morpheus sighed, disappointed. From the depth of her cleavage, he’d thought her breasts were larger. Oh well, he thought, one cannot have everything. And, she is a beautiful little thing and, best of all, still unspoiled.
His lust, both for her blood and her body, built until he felt ready to explode. Twisting his fingers in her hair, he pulled her toward him on the seat while with his other hand he tore the rest of her clothes from her body, leaving her totally naked and exposed to his view.
He stroked his growing erection and growled with desire while he positioned himself between her thighs, and then he paused. This was too easy. She must be made to suffer for all the trouble she’d caused him this night.
Sitting back on his haunches, he gently slapped her cheeks until she moaned and began to come fully awake. As her eyes cleared, she opened her mouth to scream at the sight of his naked body hovering over her, fangs bared and drooling in anticipation of what he was about to do to her.
“Go ahead and scream, my dear,” he cooed, his voice now gentle. “There is no one to hear you.” His drooling lips curled in a horrible parody of a smile at the terror in her eyes as she beheld his greatness.
Catherine suddenly realized she was going to die. Instead of causing her more terror, the realization seemed to somehow calm her fears. If that was to be, then at least she’d go out with some class. She clamped her lips together over chattering teeth, vowing not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear.
She also decided not to give up without a fight, so she kicked out at him with all her strength. Grinning, he easily parried the blow as he roughly pushed her thighs apart and jammed his enormous erection into her, splitting her and causing her to shriek in pain and degradation.
She whipped her head from side to side, trying to blot out the sight of him as he began to move inside her. She clawed at his face, but even though her nails scored and furrowed his skin, it didn’t slow him in the least. As he pumped and ground against her, he used his mind to transmit his lust to her. She felt the first faint stirrings of obscene desire as his mind tried to influence hers to enjoy the experience as he was.
Fighting him with every ounce of her being, she noticed her purse lying on the floorboard next to the backseat where it must have fallen when he dragged her back here.
Ignoring the terrible pain in her groin that felt as if he were ripping her apart, she reached her right hand into the purse and pulled out a long, cylindrical object. Snapping the top off with her thumb, she pushed it up to his face and depressed the button on top.
Morpheus reared back, grabbing his eyes, and screamed like an animal in a steel trap, his lips working furiously as he tried to spit out the vile tasting liquid as his eyes poured red-tinged tears.
Catherine drew her right foot up and kicked him in the face as hard as she could, driving him off her and back against the far door.
Scrambling as fast as she could, blood trailing down her thighs, she popped the door open and half-jumped and half-fell out of the car.
Sobbing and yelling for help, she somehow managed to get to her feet and began to stumble back down the road, frantically searching for someone to help her.
Suddenly, from around the corner, a flashing red light erupted from a cruising police car. It slid to a stop, barely avoiding running her over and an officer jumped out and wrapped his arms around her to keep her from collapsing. Within moments, she was in the backseat, wrapped in a blanket, while the policemen called for an ambulance and for backup.
Mercifully, Catherine passed out before Morpheus arrived on the scene, looking for her.
At the sight of the naked man-beast striding toward them out of the dark, both policemen pulled their weapons, their faces masks of disbelief that such a creature could exist.
“Halt or I’ll shoot!” one of the men shouted, while the other just shook his head, mumbling, “Holy shit!”; his hand—slippery with sweat—was on the butt of his Glock.
“Where is she?” Morpheus screamed, too blind with rage to worry about the danger of exposing himself to the authorities in such a flagrant manner.
“What the fuck is that?” the patrolman’s partner gasped when he saw Morpheus outlined clearly in the headlights of the patrol car.
“Jesus!” was all the first man had time to utter when Morpheus sprang on him, his fangs digging into the cop’s throat and tearing it open like a dog worrying a bone.
The second policeman, terrified beyond comprehension, began to pull the trigger on his Glock nine-millimeter automatic as fast as he could, while simultaneously backing away.
The first two bullets hit his partner, ending his pain and his life just as the next four bullets tore into Morpheus’s chest, opening wounds that spurted bright-red blood.
Morpheus staggered back under the force of the impact of the slugs and shook his head at the pain, but then he lowered his shoulders and began to walk slowly toward the man firing at him. He was hit twice more with seemingly little effect.
Just as he was about to pounce upon the terrified patrolman, who was still pumping the trigger of his gun even though it was empty, several more patrol cars careened into the park, red lights flashing and sirens blaring.
Morpheus swatted the impotent pistol out of the cop’s hand and wrapped his claws around the man’s neck. He pulled him close, lifting him off his feet, and growled into his face, “Tell her I’ll be back.”
The patrolman fainted dead away as Morpheus flung him to the ground like a rag doll before whirling and loping off into the darkness like a wild animal.
Five
It was a typical night in the Ben Taub Hospital emergency room. Three of the four trauma rooms were occupied with a man with gunshot wounds courtesy of the ever-busy gangbangers, a beaten wife who was getting prepped to have her jaw wired, and several senior medical students who were suturing up minor lacerations.
Dr. Matt Carter took a moment to instruct a medical student in the proper way to tie a knot and then he moved slowly down the corridor toward the trauma room near the front entrance to see if the surgical residents needed any help with the gunshot wound. He was dead tired, having been on duty for almost twelve hours, but thankfully his shift was over soon.
On the way to the first trauma room, he cut his eyes wistfully toward the break room, thinking it would be nice to get a quick pick-me-up from the caffeine-laden brew they laughingly called coffee in there, but he knew if he drank any this late he would never get to sleep when he got home. He shook his head and kept walking. That was all he needed, to lie awake tossing and turning while thoughts of large mouths full of phosphorescent fangs coursed through his mind, as they had since he’d received the late night phone call from Michael Morpheus.
Jesus, Matt, he told himself scornfully, get a grip, son. He snorted, thinking how simple his life would have been if he hadn’t fallen in love with the beautiful Samantha Scott and if they hadn’t gotten involved in the vampyre killings in Houston last year. Ah, but then you’d still be a lonely ass of a guy with no life other than your work, so quit sniveling and get over i
t, boyo, the persistent voice in his head argued.
He finally reached the trauma room door and peeked in, watching for a moment as the chief surgical resident, Jeff Strickland, bent over the body of a young black man and worked feverishly to save his life. Not wanting to break his concentration, Matt caught the eye of the surgical nurse standing across the table from Jeff and raised his eyebrows while mouthing the words, “Do you need any help?”
She pursed her lips and looked around the room for a few seconds before shaking her head.
Matt moved to the second trauma room and got the same answer. As it happened, the trauma team at Ben Taub, Houston’s main charity hospital, was among the best in the country, with ancillary personnel almost as skilled at trauma management as the doctors who worked alongside them.
Thinking he might get lucky and manage to leave on time tonight for a change, Matt trudged back down the hall toward the break room. Maybe just a touch of coffee wouldn’t hurt.
When he was halfway to the break room, the big trauma bell at the ambulance entrance rang, indicating the arrival of paramedics with a major emergency.
So much for leaving early, Matt thought as his tiredness and lethargy disappeared in the adrenaline rush of impending action.
He whirled around and jogged toward trauma room three, where this patient would be taken, shrugging out of his white clinic jacket as he ran. One of the first things he’d learned doing emergency medicine was that it was often a very messy job, so it was best to wear scrub clothes.
The paramedics burst through the big, double doors at the end of the hall, pushing a stretcher. On it lay a pale, shivering woman who appeared to be in her early twenties. She was crying hysterically and moving her head back and forth on the gurney as they wheeled her into the trauma room.
She was conscious. That’s a good sign, Matt thought, as he stepped next to the lead paramedic to get his preliminary report while nurses and techs moved the young woman from the stretcher to the examining table in the center of the room.
“What’s the story, Jim?” Matt asked the medic, reading his name from the nametag on his shirt.
The medic pulled a clipboard from under the gurney mattress and read: “Twenty-one-year-old white female picked up in Hermann Park, naked, with blood streaming down her legs from an alleged sexual assault,” he said in a dry, professional tone of voice devoid of any emotion, though both his expression and his eyes told a different story.
“Any other injuries?” Matt asked, pulling on latex examining gloves as his eyes roamed over the young woman while the nurses took blood from one arm and started an IV in the other.
“Ummm, a bruise to the jaw and the beginnings of what looks like a black eye,” the medic continued as he read the chart. “Looks like the son of a bitch beat her up pretty good before he raped her,” he added, a note of disgust now in his voice.
Matt moved to the side of the examining table and leaned over until his face was directly in front of the girl’s, but not close enough to frighten her. “Hi,” he said in a calm, neutral tone of voice. “I’m Dr. Carter and I’m going to be taking care of you.”
When her eyes ceased their restless moving back and forth and focused on him, he continued. “What’s your name?”
“Cathy . . . um, Catherine Williams,” the young woman croaked through dry, pale lips. Her eyes still had the vacant, staring gaze associated with shock and her lips were quivering, sweat beading on her forehead.
“Do you mind if I examine you?” Matt asked in a kind voice, not wanting to further traumatize the woman with any surprises.
“No,” she said, averting her eyes from his as if ashamed of her condition.
Matt eased the sheet down to her knees, immediately noting the large amount of blood on her thighs and lower legs and the crusted, dark clots in her pubic hair. In spite of the hundreds of such cases he saw every year, his heart hurt for Catherine, for he knew she would never be the same after this, at least not mentally. With luck, he’d be able to repair her torn, bleeding body, but her mind would forever live with the aftermath of such an assault and he knew the incident would haunt her dreams as long as she lived.
As he slowly probed and touched her lower abdomen, he continued talking to take her mind off the examination. “You appear to have been sexually assaulted and hit in the face. Do you have any other injuries I need to know about? Have you taken any drugs tonight?”
Catherine shook her head to all of the questions, tears beginning to well up in her eyes and course down her cheeks.
Matt glanced over at the nurse, who was holding the several tubes of blood she’d just taken from the patient and a clipboard upon which she would jot down the tests Matt ordered.
“Type and cross for four units packed red cells, get an H and H stat, SMAC 25, HIV, RPR, and ’lytes,” he said. “And tell the lab I need it yesterday!”
“Yes, sir,” the nurse said, already moving toward the door.
Matt turned his attention back to Catherine. “Do you have any illnesses or do you take any prescription medications?”
“No,” she replied, and then added, “That is, I just started birth control pills last month.”
Good, Matt thought, that meant he wouldn’t have to give her the morning after pills to prevent an unwanted pregnancy from the rape.
Finished with his external exam, which didn’t indicate any severe abdominal trauma, Matt stepped to the end of the table. “Catherine, I’m going to have to do an internal exam, a pelvic exam to see where the bleeding is coming from. Is that all right with you?”
Catherine closed her eyes and turned her head to the side. “Yes, sir,” she said meekly, beginning to sob quietly.
Matt nodded to the nurse assisting him and she prepared the table for the exam, fastening stirrups to the end of the table and pulling a tray with instruments he’d need close to his right side. The tray included the Rape Kit provided by the police department.
* * *
Finished with his exam on the rape victim, Matt stripped off his gloves, ordered a sedative for her, and told the nurse to call the gynecological resident on call to come to the emergency room.
He moved to the head of the table and spoke to the patient. “Catherine, you have some internal injures to your vagina.” He held up his hand at the look of panic in her eyes. “Oh, it’s nothing too serious, and it should be easy to fix, so I’m going to ask a female specialist to come down here and explain to you what needs to be done.”
“Will I . . . will I be able to have children?” Catherine asked, her eyes filling with tears again.
Matt patted her on the shoulder. “Yes, that’s still possible. Like I said, the injuries appear to be nothing more than some superficial tears of the vaginal mucosa, that is the skin of your vaginal canal. Of course, it looks as if you’ve lost quite a bit of blood so we’ll begin to replace that while we wait for the specialist to get here.”
“Oh, thank God,” the girl breathed and she seemed to relax a bit at the good news that there was no permanent damage.
“Now, I’m going to give you something for pain and to help you relax. Okay?”
“Thank you, Dr. Carter,” she said.
“You’re welcome, Catherine, and I’ll check back in with you after the specialist has done her exam.”
She nodded and closed her eyes, fatigue and loss of blood finally overcoming the terror of her ordeal enough for her to relax a little.
Matt spoke to the nurse across the table. “Mary, stay with her, would you? I don’t want her left alone after what she’s been through.”
“Of course, Dr. Carter,” the nurse said, stepping close to the table and taking Catherine’s hand in hers.
The heck with sleep, Matt thought as he exited the trauma room and turned toward the break room, I definitely need some caffeine now.
He was just pouring a cup of the syrupy, black brew when the door to the room opened and Shooter Kowolski walked in.
Shooter was uncharacteristically gri
m and his face was pale and somber as he pointed at the coffee machine. “Could you pour me a jolt of that, podna’?” he asked.
Matt’s eyes narrowed as he saw how upset his friend was. He handed him the cup he’d already poured and turned to fix one for himself. “What’s going on, Shooter? You look like you lost your best friend.”
Shooter took a deep swig of the coffee, grimaced at its bitterness, and answered, “Not a close friend, no, but a colleague from the force.”
Matt turned, surprise on his face. “A cop was killed tonight? I didn’t see him brought in.”
“You were working on the girl when they got him here. He was dead at the scene so they didn’t come code three.”
“Oh, shit, Shooter,” Matt said. “I’m sorry.” He knew how much it affected Shooter when a fellow policeman was killed in the line of duty, a not-too-rare circumstance on Houston’s mean streets these days.
“He was one of the patrol officers who picked up the girl you were working on. The guy who assaulted her killed him.”
“Jesus,” Matt whispered, flopping down on a couch across the room from Shooter. “That’s strange. Rapists don’t usually go after the cops. How’d it happen?”
“Strange isn’t the word for it, pal,” Shooter replied. “Fuckin’ bizarre is more like it.”
Matt took a sip of his coffee and almost strangled. When it went down, he felt like a huge fist had squeezed his chest. He got up and added some hot water from the faucet to thin it down a little and turned his attention back to Shooter.
“The patrolman who survived said they were cruising Hermann Park after a call came over the radio about a girl who’d been abducted from a nightclub. He said everything was quiet until this naked woman came running down the park road, screaming for help, bleeding like crazy. They hit the lights and the buzzer and stopped the car to grab her. Just as they got her in the car, this huge, ugly son of a bitch comes running down the trail after her. One of the patrolmen pulled his gun and ordered the perp to stop.” Shooter paused to take another hit of the coffee and then he continued. “He didn’t. He just walked up to the officer, lifted him off the ground, and sank his teeth into the man’s throat.”
Immortal Blood Page 5