House of Blood hob-1

by Bryan Smith

  Dream frowned.

  He’d known her less than ten minutes and already he was probing her for personal information. It seemed inappropriate, but… yes, she felt like she could talk to him. Something in his eyes spoke to her, indicated that all her darkest secrets could be shared in confidence. But that was ridiculous. She was assuming things she couldn’t know. Perhaps all she was seeing was lust, naked desire transformed by the filter of her desperation into something else. It was silly, even absurd, the notion that he was appealing to her on some deeper level.

  But the feeling was there, imbued with an unlikely emotional heft.

  She sighed. “Well…”

  “Oh, Christ.”

  Dream flinched at the exasperation in Alicia’s voice. She glanced hesitantly at her friend, whose unwavering gaze was locked on King.

  “I hate to interrupt your little mating dance, but tough shit, we’ve all got some things bothering us.” Her eyes, hard brown pebbles set in porcelain, flicked briefly at Dream before returning to King. “We didn’t show up at your door because we had nothing better to do, Edward. We’re lost, you see, and we’re out of gas. We’re here because your place is literally the end of the road. We need help.”

  King stroked his jutting chin with a thumb and forefinger. His brow furrowed with concern. “I see.”

  Alicia smirked. “Do you? I’m not sure, man. One of our friends is dead.” She jerked a thumb at Karen Hidecki, whose face was a numb, unreadable mask. “Her boyfriend. And we’re not talking about natural causes. He was murdered.”

  Dream saw a shudder shake Karen’s thin shoulders. Shame assailed her all over again. The woman’s obvious state of shock was the only barrier holding back a complete mental meltdown. Jesus, Alicia was right to sound pissed off.

  What’s wrong with me? she wondered.

  How many times had she asked herself that very question?

  Too many.

  A picture of the Glock filled her mind.

  She breathed very slowly.

  In. Out.

  In. Out.

  She looked at King and had a thought. A thought so startling it made her swallow with difficulty. This house, this place high up in the mountains, would be the stage upon which the last great drama of her life would play out. She would either kill herself with the Glock during the night, or King would turn out to be the lover she’d always needed. The heterosexual alpha male she could cling to like a life raft. She listened to the flow of words between Alicia and King, sensed on some level what was being said, but she wasn’t really listening to it.

  She was thinking of King that way again-imagining herself undoing the buttons of that clean white shirt and pulling it off him …

  … thrusting a hand inside his slacks …

  She felt wanton.

  Slutty.

  She felt disconnected from the scene in the living room. Cut off from her friends. All of existence was composed of herself and King, a vivid image of their naked bodies entwined, desperately fucking away all the pain in the world.

  She became aware of someone saying her name.

  It was Alicia.

  “Dream? You hear me, girl?”

  Dream gave her head a good shake. The world regained definition; random, senseless sounds coalesced again into recognizable words and language.

  She nodded. “Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “Of course.”

  But that inappropriate erotic tingle was still very present. She recrossed her legs and shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. She made herself look at Alicia instead of King. “I’m sorry.” She searched for a good excuse for her distraction. The most valid one occurred immediately. “I’m just so tired. This day has gone on forever.”

  She didn’t have to fake the yawn that came then.

  Alicia’s expression softened. “I know, girl.” She smiled, a sad upturning of her lips that spoke of weariness and loss.

  “Just bear with me a bit longer. I’m having a bit of an argument with Miss Scully here.”

  She nodded at Karen.

  Dream was startled by the Asian girl’s tear-soaked countenance. A fresh stab of shame made her wince inwardly. Christ, how could a person get so lost in fantasy that she’d miss a friend’s emotional meltdown? The grotesque inappropriateness of her thoughts made her want to cry.

  But… Jesus … the thoughts weren’t going away.

  She made herself say, “What are you arguing about?”

  Alicia scowled. “You are really out of it.” She sighed, glanced again at Karen before continuing. “We’re arguing about… the way Shane died.”

  Karen whimpered, a sound that tugged at Dream’s battered heart.

  “What about it?”

  Alicia’s expression grew more solemn. “She’s still insisting he was killed by a monster. She’s been telling Edward here about what she believes she saw in the woods, a vivid description, granted, but obviously a product of hysteria and stress. I say she didn’t clearly see Shane’s killer, so her mind supplied her with images gleaned from movies and books. Delusions-“

  Karen turned on her. “I saw what I fucking saw, Alicia!” She scooted to the far end of the sofa, away from Alicia. “I’m not fucking crazy, I’m not on drugs, and I don’t hallucinate monsters. My mind’s not so goddamn brittle. You don’t have to believe me, fine, shit, I don’t care, but please stop insulting me.”

  Alicia closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. Her lips moved, and Dream knew she was counting to ten. She was trying to find a calm center within herself, the place she always tapped to drain away excess hostility. Dream had seen her do it a million times.

  Her eyes fluttered open. She turned an unblinking gaze on Karen. “I’m sorry if you feel insulted, Karen. It wasn’t my intention to insult you. We’re all under a lot of stress, and I think we’ll all feel a lot better as soon as we can get a ride to the nearest hotel.” Her gaze shifted to Dream. “Right, Dream?”

  Dream’s breath caught in her throat. She was uncomfortably aware of how closely the sound resembled a gasp. A disappointed sound. She couldn’t help the quick glance she shot King’s way. “Um … yeah, sure.”

  But she didn’t like that, acquiescing to Alicia’s unflinching drive to steer them in the right direction. She didn’t like being cajoled. And she didn’t want to kill herself in a fucking hotel. She wanted to spend her possibly last night on earth under King’s roof.

  In his bed.

  She sighed.

  A frustrated-little-girl sound. She didn’t like making that sound. It embarrassed her, made her feel childish, but she couldn’t help it.

  She didn’t want to go.

  She wouldn’t go.

  Fuck it. Fuck them. Fuck everything.

  A look of exasperation creased Alicia’s face. “Oh, what, Dream?” She shrugged her shoulders in an exaggerated way. “Please don’t get weird on me. I’ve seen you making googly eyes at studly here. Cool, fine, I understand lust. What I don’t understand is this lack of grace under pressure.

  This is the wrong goddamn time for hanky-panky. I’m counting on you, girl. Help me get us out of this.”

  Dream seethed.

  Alicia’s famous bluntness was intact, but it had been a long time-since shortly after the escapade with the razor-since Dream had felt the brunt of it.

  So she lashed out.

  “You’re not my fucking nanny”

  But Dream was instantly appalled by the utterance.

  “I’m sorry, Alicia.” She sobbed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”

  Alicia came to her without words, took her into an embrace, and wiped her tears away. She held Dream close, cradling her face against her neck. Dream snuggled into the crook of her friend’s neck. Sobs continued to shake her body. Her friend’s strong arms around her were a reassuring statement of strength. It was what she liked best about Alicia. She was stolid. Dependable. Implacable. She would absolutely never, ever crack under pressure.

  As always when Alicia comforted her, sh
e quickly began to feel better. She breathed a shuddery sigh and broke the embrace. “I’m okay now.”

  Alicia looked at her with concern. “You sure, hon?”

  Dream wiped her eyes. “Yes.” She managed a fragile smile. “Sorry about that.”

  Alicia rolled her eyes. “Oh, hell, don’t apologize for being human.”

  King loudly cleared his throat.

  They all turned their heads toward him. He sat in his chair with one leg propped over another, his big hands clasped over a knee. A look of bemusement played across his handsome features. Dream found herself unsettled by the expression. There was a disturbing quality to it, something she couldn’t quite pinpoint, something … And then she had it. The realization struck her like a sack of rocks.

  He’d found the tearful exchange … amusing.

  Entertaining.

  What a sick motherfucker!

  Dream felt a surge of anger.

  But—

  She frowned and chewed her lower lip.

  Maybe she was misreading him.

  She wanted that to be the case.

  King’s expression changed, became solemn. “I’m afraid there’s no question of where you’ll be staying tonight. Our phones are out.” He shrugged in apology. “I don’t know what the problem is, but I assume the phone company is working to correct it. You are, of course, welcome to spend the night here.”

  He smiled. “It’s really for the best. All will seem better …” He paused, glanced at Karen, and appeared to reconsider his words.”… or at least more manageable in the morning. A good night’s rest can do wonders for the disposition.”

  Alicia grunted. “Look, what we’d really like is a ride into town.”

  Dream frowned, chewed her lips.

  Was that what she really wanted?

  She jiggled her foot and tried not to look at King.

  Alicia, oblivious, went on. “No offense, but I’d really feel a lot better about everything if we could let the police know what’s going on.”

  “Chad’s still out there,” Karen chimed in. “They ought to be looking for him. He could be in danger.” She grunted, glanced with deliberation at each of her friends. “Don’t forget what it was like out there.” Her voice dropped in pitch. “Strange. Like the motherfucking Twilight Zone.”

  “He’s in danger,” Alicia said. “No doubt about it.”

  Karen’s red-rimmed eyes flicked toward Dream. “We should never have left the goddamn interstate.”

  Dream flinched.

  Alicia sighed. “Yeah.”

  Dream didn’t want to think about that.

  Not anymore.

  King sighed. “I’m sorry, ladies. I hesitate to send my employees down the mountain at night even under the best of circumstances. This place is not this ‘twilight zone’ you speak of, although I understand tremendous stress of the sort you’ve endured can cause some misperceptions. I live in a remote area. The going is treacherous at best, as I’m sure you’ve discovered. And the threat of inclement weather erases any possibility of such a trek, I’m afraid.” He smiled thinly. “Your missing friend should be fine as long as he sticks to the road. I suspect he’ll show up here at some point.”

  There was another uncomfortable silence.

  Dream thought, What threat of inclement weather?

  But she didn’t say it.

  She looked at King, felt her heart stutter, and she just couldn’t say it.

  Alicia sighed, defeated. “Okay. I guess we’re staying here.” Then there was some steel in her voice again. “But you’re getting us out of here first thing in the morning, understand?”

  King smiled. “Of course.”

  Then he raised his voice. “Ms. Wickman!”

  The severe housekeeper appeared through an archway. “Yes, Master?”

  Alicia’s double take was impossible to miss.

  She looked at Dream and mouthed the word: Master?

  Her face radiated incredulity.

  King paid her no mind. “These ladies have endured a long, arduous night. It is time for them to rest. Please be so kind as to show them to their rooms.”

  Ms. Wickman nodded stiffly. “Certainly? She arched an eyebrow at the women. “Ladies?”

  Alicia and Karen got slowly to their feet, stretching and groaning from exhaustion. Dream shifted in her chair, uncrossed her legs, and listened to the beating of her frantic heart. She was as tired as her friends-perhaps more so, having done the bulk of the driving from Key West-but she didn’t want to leave yet.

  She wanted to stay right here.

  With King.

  Alicia cast an inquisitive gaze at her. “Hey, Dream, aren’t you coming up?”

  Dream mustered a big smile, infusing it with as much sincerity as she could summon. “I’m a little restless yet. I think I’ll stay down here and have a drink with Mr. King.”

  King smiled.

  Alicia smiled. “Okay. Whatever. You’re a grown-up, sweetie.” She bent down to kiss Dream goodnight. “You take care of yourself, you hear?”

  Dream met her friend’s gaze. “I will. Don’t worry about me.”

  She tossed her car keys to Alicia, who caught them in midair. “Get our bags out of the car. You can give me the keys tomorrow.”

  Alicia sighed. “Okay, Dream.”

  Then she and Karen were gone, following Ms. Wickman through the archway.

  Dream, at last, was able to turn the whole of her attention to King.

  His smile broadened and he uncrossed his legs. “Alone at last.”

  Dream drew in a deep breath, counted slowly to ten, and expelled it with a shudder. “Yes,” she breathed. She had to count to ten again. She swallowed hard and somehow managed to say, “I want you.”

  King nodded. “I know, Dream.”

  He stood up.

  Approached her.

  Extended his hand.

  She stood.

  Took his hand.

  And followed him out of the room.

  Hell.

  Chad wondered about that.

  Am I in hell?

  Perhaps. If Satan’s domain was a maze of crudely carved tunnels beneath the mountains of East Tennessee, then, yes, he was certainly in hell. What he’d seen of Below so far was comparable in important ways to Western civilization’s most common vision of hell-an oppressively dark, hot, nasty place somewhere well south of heaven, a grim place where evil reigned supreme and soul-scorching terror was a way of life.

  Okay, maybe this “Master” person wasn’t the literal Satan of the Bible, but he was clearly some variety of bad-ass supernatural being. He could manipulate minds as easily as other people fold clothes, and he apparently enjoyed mucking about with the fabric of reality a bit. Not nice.

  Chad had never previously had occasion to give the issue much thought, but he considered it a given that anyone who went around mucking with the fabric of reality was an asshole.

  Which was somehow perfect.

  Of course the devil was an asshole-what else would he be?

  So, Chad decided, let’s say this guy’s the devil. Master. Devil. Same difference. For hypothetical purposes, let’s just go with it. This motherfucker is Beelzebub. The horned one himself. 01’ Scratch. Commander of the forces of darkness. Wielder of malevolent power beyond calculating.

  Why, then, did such a being have such an inefficient infrastructure in place for his underworld kingdom?

  The guards at the checkpoint, for instance.

  An undisciplined joke.

  These things were all symptomatic of a system ripe for exploitation. As he rode with Cindy in the transport truck, the part of his mind that made him a success in business went into overdrive, scheming, turning things over in his mind, looking for patterns, weak links, things he might be missing.

  The transport truck coughed and sputtered as it rumbled over the rough tunnel terrain. Its shock absorbers were shot, and every time the vehicle bumped over a rock or mound of hardpacked dirt its occupants were jostle
d. It was a feeling akin to being on a small ship during a major storm on the open sea.

  Cindy, who was free of restraints, was handling it okay. She could easily grab one of the curved metal struts that supported the green canvas above them. But the slaves-and Chad was a slave-had it bad. They were tossed about like dice in a gambler’s hand. Chad kept pitching to the floor and smacking his head on the bench opposite him. To get back up, he had to roll onto his side, shift around until he could get his butt under him, then propel himself backward onto the bench next to Cindy.

  Cindy, of course, didn’t lift a finger to help him.

  She didn’t even look at him.

  As a slave, his safety was of only minor importance. He was her property. Extreme emphasis on the word “property.” Dehumanization was obviously a vital component of the master-slave relationship. To the extent that you could even describe such an arrangement as a “relationship,” that is.

  He wasn’t really her slave. They’d discussed it in hushed voices prior to the transport truck’s arrival at the checkpoint. She had to maintain at least a facade of the typical bad attitude evinced by newly emancipated slaves. Freed slaves had something to prove, she educated him. They had to show they could be every bit as cruel as their former masters. More so, if possible. Survival of the fittest wasn’t the guiding principle down here. That was surfaceworld rhetoric. Bullshit spewed by clueless assholes who didn’t know the true meaning of adversity.

  Survival Below wasn’t about corporate-style maneuvering.

  Or the petty backstabbing of reality-show contestants.

  Cindy made it clear she meant to put forth a convincing portrayal of the meanest bitch any of these assholes had ever seen. Chad, of course, knew what that meant-assthrashings so severe they’d make even the jocks who’d tormented him in high school cringe. She didn’t try to sugarcoat it for him. He was going to have a hard time. He was going to hate her sometimes.

  But she told him to keep one thing clear in his mind at all times.

  Pain aside, it wasn’t real.

  He wasn’t her slave.

  He looked at the manacles binding his wrists and thought about the leg irons immobilizing his feet, and he tried to believe that.

  But it was hard.

  The rumbling and tossing stopped as the truck rolled onto a stretch of tunnel floor that was significantly smoother than the rougher terrain it had just traversed. The excavation was more extensive here-the tunnel walls were farther apart, and the ceiling was higher. Chad could see this through the opening in the green canvas at the rear of the truck. The lighting was better here, too, more revealing-he could see evidence of the tunnel’s long-ago construction, shovel marks in the earthen wall.