“Scotch and soda, Charlie,” she called out as she slipped up on the empty barstool beside him.
He cut his eyes around when she sat down. “Well, if it ain’t the cute little she-devil. Quite an act you have there.”
“It pays the rent,” she lied smoothly as she took the frosty drink in her hand.
“And then some, I’ll bet.”
“Look, I’ve done two shows tonight and I’m tired. Mind if we skip the conversation?”
“Whatever you say,” he muttered.
The two of them drifted into a heavy silence, and after a few minutes, his eyes slid toward her again. “Look, I don’t want to bother you, but you seem like a dame with troubles. Maybe I—”
“Save it, mister. You don’t have what I need, so don’t even try.”
“And what do you need? A million dollars? Someone to kill your boyfriend?” His lids lowered seductively as he looked her over. “A man?”
She snickered into her glass, then turned to look at him with a pair of stormy blue, trouble-filled eyes. “Not even close.”
Giving a slight shrug, he looked away. “All right, so have it your way. But remember. If you’ve got troubles, I’ve got a great shoulder for crying.” He paused for a few moments, then slid his eyes toward her once more. “In case I was interested, which I’m not, what time can you break free of this den of iniquity?”
“Not that it’s any business of yours,” she held up her glass that was almost empty, “but as soon as I finish this drink, I’m outta here.”
“Yeah? How about I give you a ride home?”
The ice in her glass crackled as she finally drained it. “I thought you weren’t interested.”
He shrugged, giving her one of his million-dollar smiles. “So I lied.”
“Sorry,” she said with a shake of her head, “I don’t ride on motorcycles.”
“Yeah? What do you do on them?”
“Not a damned thing. They’re for kids and,” she hesitated, then looked him square in the eyes, “boobs like you who have a problem with their manhood.” She moved to get up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I see—”
His hand reached out and roughly grabbed her arm. “I don’t happen to like what you just said. If you want a taste of my manhood, I suggest we take a stroll.” Still squeezing her arm, he leaned toward her and whispered a vulgar proposition in her ear, then showed her his money.
The fish was caught!
She quickly grabbed it, ruffled the bills with her long nails, then stuffed it down the front of her blouse. They stood and went out back. Sugar led him furtively through the dappled darkness, not aware of the others who followed. She quickly found a shadow that lay undisturbed against the back wall of the club and turned. When she saw two other cyclists leering at her, she said, “What’s the matter, can’t you handle this all by yourself?”
“I believe in sharing.”
“All right, gents, let’s get this party started before the storm breaks.”
Sugar and Mr. Beautiful drifted into each other’s arms while the other two men closed in on each side. Music from the club played softly in the air. Shoe leather scraped on cracked cement, clothes rustled in the warm night, and then came a soft moan as Sugar felt her panties being ripped off and a stiff cock pressing against her pussy. She moaned. Lips and rough hands were everywhere. They moved anxiously along her body, kneading her breasts and sinfully tweaking her nipples. Small bolts of electricity seared through her while someone played with her clit. She felt herself being forced to the ground to roll around on small rocks and parking lot litter. Her buttocks and pussy were stroked and licked, and a swirling heat began to build, compelling her to move her hips in a loose swing and push. Someone parted her thighs and licked them while flirting with her pussy until her juices burned and dripped. Suddenly a plunge stabbed her so deep, she lost her breath. The hard body that took over was riding her into hell, where the flames of desire leaped and licked. She rode high, but almost as soon as the ride began, he pulled out, and the next rock-hard cock took over. They took her one by one, riding her hard while they pushed her against the ragged ground.
Her eyes opened, and she gazed up at the full moon, at the lying silver disk that was supposed to symbolize love and romance, all those silly emotions that didn’t exist. It brought to mind the four lives that had been cruelly taken from her when they fell victim to its evil rays. Maybe some poor saps could look at it and think of romance, but it had given her nothing but heartaches.
Suddenly it grabbed her, the moon’s wicked stimulus, and the evil mutation began.
She arched her body when she felt it coming. It did no good to resist it; she was firmly in its grasp. Her eyes angled down at the three who took turns thrusting themselves inside her. In only seconds her teeth lengthened into sharp edges, and her hairline slowly began to lower. Her long white-blonde hair changed to a bristly red hue, and her act on the stage of the Rock Candy Club became a horrifying reality. With growing excitement, the men were clawing at her, their moans filling the darkness. She could feel the blood hunger surge within her and lowered her eyes to the inviting flutter of a pulsing artery, to the succulent flesh only inches from her mouth.
It was the reason she was here.
Suddenly her tongue darted out, licking the place where the rushing blood pulsed rapidly, making an intense ripple beneath his swarthy skin. With her sensitive tongue, she could feel its deep ebb and flow that reminded her of the ocean that moved restlessly against the coastline. Her body was on fire, caught up in the imagined taste of his spicy essence. And then, when her blood lust was at its most intense, she opened her mouth wide and sank her fangs deep into his neck and ripped violently. He jerked in her arms and then quickly grew limp. As his warm blood surged toward her vicious bite, the two other men looked on in horror.
When one turned to run, Spice was on him in a second, her strength incredible as she slammed him to the ground and covered him. He struggled, scratched along the ground for escape, but with a quick yank she grabbed his long hair and pulled his head backward, exposing the throbbing veins in his neck. Just as she was going in for the kill, she let out a bloodcurdling roar and then bared her fangs and ripped and tore at his flesh. As his blood rushed into her mouth, she could smell it, taste it, feel herself getting drunk on it. She reveled in the taste of flesh, the draining of his veins, as it slid down her throat and into her ravenous belly.
The kill at last complete, she quickly pulled away, her mouth dripping with blood. With defensive movements, her eyes darted around, searching for the last man who was backing away from the horrible sight. She advanced toward him, but he began babbling and gurgling as he turned, grabbed his cycle, and headed for the open road. A soft snarl erupted from her throat, and she loped off into the darkness.
With her animalistic instincts guiding her, she scurried into the night, the shadows of trees and bushes her cover. The landscape that passed swiftly by her resembled an artist’s painting of wet, running colors. The wind rushed into her face as the mutation began to reverse itself. With every turn of a corner, every thrash of her beating heart, her red, bristling hair slowly lost its fiery hue and changed to its white-blonde color while it flew wildly in the wind. Her lowered hairline began to move upward, her feral appearance slowly giving way to the delicate, porcelain beauty she had been born with.
As she continued to run through the countryside, her mind went back to the night Cristo had died, to the night that the curse had mysteriously transferred between them. Even now, she could feel the searing cuts of his taloned fingers as they scratched her scalp. It was then, that night, that the big bad moon had taken her captive—and Spice was born.
Chapter 2
Dead blood.
The greasy smell hit Detective Sage Wilson like a bullet in the belly. He had seen the leavings of murder before, but nothing like this. His morning, and previous night, had been spent counting bodies like these two, and it was giving him one hell of a headache
. Like any self-respecting cop, he’d denied it, even tried to drown what he knew in shot after shot of rotgut whiskey. But the time finally came when he had to face facts and climb out of his hole and admit that a serial killer was on the loose.
“Let’s get to work, men,” he said grimly, then noticed something and crouched down. He moved carefully along the ground, tracking what looked like fresh animal prints. He looked over at the two men who’d had their throats ripped out. What the hell kind of animal could have done this? His eyes shifted toward the dark woods at the end of the promenade. No animal he knew of would come up out of the woods during the Reef’s peak hours. The bright lights, blaring music, and hordes of tourists would have been enough to keep any animal away.
But not this one.
He felt the cool breeze against his skin and knew it was near that time of year again—the time when the woods needed to be cleaned out. Hunters with guns and rifles would comb the woods looking for crazed, rabid wolves that made the area look like a battlefield of blood and ripped-up flesh, both human and animal.
But that was in the woods, not in the friggin’ parking lot of the Rock Candy Club.
The animal that would do this wasn’t an animal, but a monster. No animal crazed or otherwise, could plan its kill. No animal would have the sense to hide and skulk in the shadows to attack his prey, then leave them like this. He glanced up at a moon that suddenly shimmered as if alive and felt an involuntary chill dance down his back. It reminded him of the rumors of a loose werewolf. There’d been sightings reported, but Sage was sure it was nothing more than the drunken fantasies of men that had seen the Sugar and Spice act performed here at the club.
He sensed the spreading of darkness, so his eyes shifted to the promenade and saw that the lights along the Reef were slowly blinking out. In a few more hours, the strip would be dark and haunting.
Then is when the animals would come out.
He saw them frequently, lingering and sniffing along the grounds, looking for half-eaten hot dogs, scattered popcorn bags, and sticky candy wrappers that scooted along the promenade in the breeze. These animals were relatively harmless unless threatened. None of them would stay around when a human showed up, and they sure as hell wouldn’t rip someone’s throat out during the Reef’s peak hours.
Sage remembered when Gypsy Reef was nothing more than a place for Gypsies to park their caravans. At night you could see their bright campfires where they read palms and sang their Gypsy melodies. Later the carnivals came. Tents, sideshows, and gaming booths were set up. From there it grew into one of the most frequented playgrounds along the eastern seaboard. Because of its sudden growth, it had become a hotbed for murder, drunkenness, prostitution, and every other kind of vice he could think of. He hadn’t yet spotted any drug trafficking, but that really wasn’t his beat. No, his beat was homicide, and Gypsy Reef, like the big city of New York, was quickly becoming known for its bloody slaughters and crime sprees. Tourists from all over the country haunted the Reef whose coastline was rough with many inaccessible promontories. After years of bloodthirsty tales, these haunted peninsulas that stretched far and wide had gained a reputation and became known as The Devil’s Doorway. Every year the curious visitors swarmed into the souvenir shops, the bars, restaurants, gambling casinos, as well as having their bodies painted, pierced, or tattooed.
Occasionally even a Christian crusade would come along and set up a revival tent for all the lost souls that visited the Reef. That reminded him of the church that crouched all alone at the edge of the Reef. Its presence was almost unnoticed as it sat among thick shrubbery and trees that refused to let the rays of the sun or moon invade its shadows. It had a graveyard beside it and a rectory in the back. It was occupied by Father Jonathan Becker, a holy man with a quiet disposition who kept up the building and the grounds as best he could. Sage would see him walking around the outside of the church on occasion, inspecting the building. Since his parish was so small, he served alone, dividing his time between his ministerial duties and keeping the grounds in good shape.
The church and the reverend seemed to fit.
Both were lonely, dark, and deathly quiet.
While Gypsy Reef was closing, Sage had the bodies carted away, the motorcycles impounded, and then assisted the uniforms in collecting all the evidence they could find. By the time they were through, Sage had found a ripped-up pair of panties and a stiletto heel. He bagged them as possible evidence. They could belong to anyone since the area behind the club was frequented with couples hiding a liaison or two. It reminded him of a cute chick named Sugar, but it was doubtful it was hers since she was known for being somewhat aloof.
Still, it raised a few questions in his mind.
He saw blood, hair, grit, and gum stuck to the shoe and hoped they gave him something to work with. The throb in his head had finally grown into a migraine. Back at the station, he would take a couple of pills chased down by cold coffee, then map out his strategy for an investigation into—hell.
* * * *
She ran, hobbling on one naked foot and one shoe with a broken heel. Blood and tears matted her hair, and dirt smeared her clothes and face. Someone had already found the bodies. Ear-shattering police sirens screeched all around her. They were close. Too close. Fear surged within her. She looked around, desperate to find a secure place, a hole, anywhere she could hide.
She saw a church and quickly stumbled toward it, her body half naked, her tattered clothes barely hanging from her body.
A church is the last place they will look, she thought and ran into the foreboding burial ground and hid behind a damaged gravestone.
Her eyes searched for the nearest door or window and found an obscure side entrance only a few feet from where she crouched. The doorway was dark, hidden by trees and shrubs. The obvious questions hammered through her head. What if it was locked? What if someone was inside? What if they saw her? She gave a start when another shrill blast erupted, and suddenly it didn’t matter.
She had to take the chance.
Moving further into the shadows, she hid until the sirens passed and then quickly pushed herself away from the cross of cracked, rough cement and darted toward the nearby door that opened easily. The darkness inside blinded her, but finally she managed to see a dim outline of another door.
Where does it lead? she wondered as she crept toward it.
Careful not to make any noise, she peered inside and saw that she was on a landing above an area that was wide and cavernous. She stepped in softly and immediately saw some stairs made of old, unpainted wood. When she stepped on them, they emitted a soft creak, and the air smelled musty and damp. The walls were crumbling with age, and the cement floor was riddled with cracks. Finding a corner, she wilted down into it and fell into a fitful sleep where nightmares haunted her.
Once again, she relived the awful night in her dungeon. The face of her cursed son swam above her in a macabre nightmare, his hulking body coming closer and closer. Whirling all around her were the sounds of angry growling. She felt the heaviness of the brooding darkness, saw vivid splashes of blood. Oh, God! So much blood!
She woke up screaming when the voices of her guilty conscience began.
“You killed him, bitch!”
“No!” she screamed.
“You killed him, and now you’ll pay!”
The voices whirled; the words stabbed at her heart.
“I didn’t…he was coming at me with death in his eyes. He didn’t know me…he…he would have killed me!”
“How could you do it? How could you sink a knife into the heart of your own son?”
“I don’t know,” she sobbed. “Please leave me alone. Please!”
“I’m waiting for you in hell! I’m waiting with the ones you killed!”
“No! No! I didn’t mean to kill anyone!” she cried while the voices continued to whirl around her head. “Cristo’s death wasn’t my fault. He was going to kill me…I was frightened…I couldn’t let him…I couldn’t!”<
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“You’ll pay, you little…”
She had to get away, away from the accusing voices, away from the horror, the guilt. She jumped up and ran, bursting through doors, sliding around corners, but the voices followed her. She held her hands up to her ears, but she could still hear them.
Like the hounds of hell, each accusing word nipped at her heels.
* * * *
In the chapel…
A reflection of leaping flames burned in the gaze of Father Jonathan Becker as he stared down into the sea of candles. Swirling colors, blood red, blue, bright orange, melted together, each reflecting on slightly sagging skin and dark hair with a distinguished scattering of gray at the temples. He moved silently about the table as he continued to light the candles.
The chapel was long and decorated with plaster saints that stood in small alcoves along the walls. The burgundy pews and dark, shining wood gave it a feeling of warmth. Having finished, he knelt at the altar on one knee, gave the sign of the cross, and then moved to get up. He hesitated, scowling at the pain in the bunched-up muscles of his legs. He was only in his forties, but already his body reminded him that the years were piling up. While he moved to loosen his stiff back, he suddenly stopped and turned his head.
What was that? A scream? No, it couldn’t be. The squawk of a bird, that’s what it was. With the ocean right outside his door, he heard them all the time, and it never failed to give him a chill, like the crawl of ants on his skin. Dismissing it, he turned back and continued until another sound, louder this time, seemed to make its way up from the basement. It sounded like the scream of a woman, a door slamming, footsteps.
Turning, he hurried down the aisle and into the darkness.
Sugar and Spice Page 2