Blackwater

by Tara Brown

  "Huh?"

  I cross my arms and nod, "I need to find someone. A man named Martin Ryan. Can the other dead folks help you find him for me?"

  Her misty hands land on her cloud like hips, "What I look like a hound dog? I don't know where he's to. Y'all need to go home. Sunrise is in a couple hours."

  I shake my head and wonder how weird I look talking to a cloud in the dank air, "No need to get snippy. You were nicer when I was little."

  She gives me the same look I'm giving her, "You was nicer when you was little too. Now you a dead, nasty creature. Go home, Lorelei."

  That stings coming from a ghost, "How is it I can see you so clear now but before I could only hear the whispers?"

  "Because now you dead too. And here I got me the magic of Louisiana." she whispers and the cold air is gone.

  "Damn, that's probably a bad thing." I mutter and close my eyes smelling the air around me. His scent is the same as it always was. I turn to the right and start to run.

  I find him precisely the way I expected to, balls deep in a young pretty girl in a seedy-ass motel. She looks so much like me, I'd have thought she was me. I grimace through the window and then walk to the door where I roll my head and shoulders a few times. I shrug and try to loosen up; I'm tense from the meeting with Angie. I feel sick and it hurts in a way I can't explain to myself. My emotions still don’t work the way they used to. I take a breath and kick the motel door open. He jumps up and covers himself. I close the door and grin, "You miss me, baby?"

  He squints and backs away. "Lorelei?" Terror crosses his face with the recognition.

  I grin harder, "The very same." I grab the foot of the terrified young girl on the bed, trying to cover herself, and drag her squirming naked body to me. My fangs launch.

  "Please leave me alone," she begs. Sometimes I like it when they beg, just a bit. My hands move faster than their eyes. I grab her silky dirty-blonde hair and pull her head up into my embrace. I bite down hard on her throat. My fangs crunch into her neck and instantly her sweet blood fills my mouth. She's sugary and fresh like an orange plucked from the still warm tree. I almost close my eyes but I don’t want to give him the chance to stake me in the heart. I can't die until I eat him up, slowly.

  I moan as she gives up the fight and lets me suck her to near dry. She twitches on the floor when I drop her and step over her dying body.

  His eyes are wide and horrified.

  I wipe the blood off my lips with my hands, "I'm gonna enjoy killing you, just like you enjoyed mauling me like a bear in heat."

  He shakes his head and quivers, "Lorelei, I swear. I was a young man then, hopped up on my hormones and you were so pretty. You still are." His words taper off into a whisper and he has the audacity of looking at my chest.

  His wide eyes flicker between the dying girl on the floor and the evil shit-eating grin on my face.

  "Tables have turned haven’t they, baby? I'm the one in control. You ain't got no rights now. No control over the fact I'm too young and too stupid to see how ridiculous the whole thing is. Not like back then." I remember Whit's words about Southern debutants. He was so right.

  I take a step towards him, watching his eyes darting about the room for a plan. It makes me smile.

  "You think you can outrun me, Martin baby?" I cross my arms, "Go ahead, try." My voice lowers as I look at him through my lashes.

  He swings at me but my hand moves faster than his, I backhand him hard. He staggers back. I grimace, averting my eyes, "Put some shorts on at least. No one wants to see that little thing."

  He leaps at me, growling with rage. I grab his shoulders and drop him to the ground. I hold him facedown on the now dead girl. Her wheezing and death rattle has stopped. He squirms and screams as I push his face into her bloody neck.

  "You wanted her, have some of her." I shove his face harder. His strength is remarkable but it's nothing for me. I lift him into the air and hold his bloody face to mine, "You will cooperate with me. You will answer my questions."

  He almost fights it but then nods.

  I drop him to a crumpled heap on the floor.

  I sit on a chair across from him and sigh, "Why did Angie marry you?"

  He shakes his head and answers like he's in a daze, "Her daddy. He made her do it."

  I raise an eyebrow, "Why?"

  "I told him that I had been screwing her for months and she was with child."

  I clench my jaw and hold back the rage building in me. "Was she?"

  He shakes his head, "No."

  "Had y'all been having sex?" I wasn’t sure I wanted the answers.

  He shakes his head, "Just once."

  "When?"

  He swallows, "I made her do it in the woods at our engagement party. She was real drunk and I told her if she did it, I would go easy on you. I wouldn’t let my friends have a turn with you, if she gave me her virginity." I wince as he speaks the words. I have to control my anger.

  "Why her?" I whisper.

  His face is frozen in the blank stare and his words are like they are being spoken by the dead, "I wanted to marry her before I ever asked you. She had good connections. Her daddy was a man of influence. But she hated me. She hated me always. I wanted her, but she wouldn’t have me. She heard about me being caught with Margery Banks. She told me I was the last man alive she would marry. I gave up and told my daddy to make a deal with your daddy. You was so pretty. That made Angie angry with me. She offered me herself, to spare you marrying me. Hurtful bitch. Y'all were lucky I wanted you at all. I was a prize. I'm the Governor of Louisiana for Christ's sake." His words fill with a tiny bit of emotion.

  I shake my head, "Did you rape Margery Banks and Angie?"

  His eyes fight something. His jaw clenches. After a second he slumps and nods, "I did."

  "How many girls you raped?"

  He shakes his head, "I don’t know."

  "Are you scared of me, Martin?"

  He nods and swallows.

  "Do you understand what I am?" I get comfy in the chair.

  He shakes his head again, "I don't know. Death?"

  "Crawl to me, Martin."

  He fights himself but his body moves. He crawls on his hands and knees to his death.

  "Look up at me like a good doggy."

  With hate filling his eyes and bitterness covering his face, he looks up at me. I don’t see the boy I once did; his face is so altered. But in his eyes I still see the twisted horrid person he was. Only now he's an old man who hasn’t aged right. His skin is too tight and too tanned. His soul is blacker than mine I think.

  "Did you ever love her, Angie?"

  "No."

  "Were you cruel to her the whole time?"

  He nods.

  "Did you beat her and rape her throughout the marriage?" I can feel the hold I have is almost gone. I'm breaking myself with this. The torture ain't just for him. I deserve every ounce he does.

  "Did you?"

  He nods again.

  I grin bitterly and point my fingers, "Tilt your head, show me that strong neck, sugar."

  He does it.

  I lean into his cold eyes and whisper, "Fight for your life, Martin." I sink my fangs in his throat as he comes to life. I hold him as he punches and grips but he doesn’t stand a chance. His blood fills with adrenaline. I moan and rock in the chair, holding him like a scrambling cat.

  I suck him to the point I did her but I don’t drop him. I hold him tight and rock still. His anger and bitterness made his blood taste of it. Tears leap from my eyes. I have destroyed him.

  "I wish I could make your soul go to hell. I wish I could make you suffer the same things you've given her, for all of eternity." My black tears leave my eyes, landing on his dying face. He coughs one last time and then he's gone. He gurgles and dies in my arms. The death is too kind for him. He deserved so much worse.

  I stand and leave the motel room. Leaving him and his naked mistress on the floor for all to see.

  It's the fate he deserves. If
I can give Angie a few years of tranquility and peace, I'll be happy. I owe her that in the least. She tried to save me the fate I was stuck with. She tried to spare me everything. She tried to warn me and I abandoned her. I let him rape her in the woods at my party. I need to forget it. I need to get rid of it. I need it to go away. The guilt and pain don’t sit right with my soullessness.

  I walk to the old hiding house, looking for him.

  "Whit." I call out. I need him.

  I see movement across the old field. The moonlight bounces off his face as he steps. I can almost hear Nina Simone singing when I see him. His broad shoulders and thick arms make my knees weak. I can hate him and let him love me. I decide it when I see his face. He knows I've done something naughty. He can smell the blood lust that’s filled me.

  I whisper to him, knowing he'll hear it, "I need you."

  His pace picks up. I jump into his arms and wrap myself around him. His soft lips caress mine gently. He is taking his time with his kisses and strokes. He's savoring me.

  "I need you." I murmur into his hair as his head dips into my neck. My body is on fire. The blood is coursing through me.

  "I've wanted you since the minute I saw you." His words are brushes of warm wind against my nape. I shake my head as his fingers softly play with the button on my jeans. He undoes them.

  I can't take the softness and slow loving. It's not what I want. I push him back and pull my jeans off. He toys with my white underwear. I rip them off as well.

  He chuckles, "The blood has you hot and bothered."

  I growl up at him, "You do it or I find someone else to do it."

  He growls back and sucks the bloody metallic taste from my lips, "You're mine, Lorelei."

  I want to be his. I reach up and rip the button off his pants and drag them down forcefully. His underwear slides down with them.

  I lie back in the itchy wheat and yank him on top of me. He tries kissing me again but I'm determined to get what I want from him. I position him and dig my fingernails into his ass cheeks to drive him forward. I cry out when he enters me. It feels bad for the first couple strokes but after a second he's getting into a rhythm and I'm starting to enjoy it. I move my hips against him and wrap my legs around him again. His body is sliding over me and in and out of me and I'm feeling things I've never felt before.

  Finally. Finally it's happening. I ride him as much as he rides me and when he grips me and cries out, I feel finally complete. I don't orgasm with him but it feels amazing. I love the feeling of him inside of me. I love everything about him.

  "Oh my god, Lorelei. That was incredible." He is breathing wildly into my hair and kissing the top of my head. I roll us over and am sitting on top of him, with him still inside me. I look down and even though it makes me sick, I'm glad it was him. It was always meant to be Whit. I always wanted him to have my virginity.

  He frowns and looks at me. He's beautiful. "You didn’t orgasm?"

  I shake my head, "No. It was kind of short, I expected it to be longer and besides it was my first time. I just wanted it to be over and done with." It's a lie but I want him to rot inside about it. His face drops as I pat him on the chest, "Thanks though. This was fun."

  He looks sick as I get off of him and grab my jeans. I try to pull them on, but end up hopping about on one foot.

  "What? Fun? What are ya doing?" His accent thickens up a bunch. He sounds like he's fresh from Scotland.

  "Damned skinny jeans." I mutter and struggle. They're making my getaway hard. I give up on them and walk across the field for home, bare assed. I'm grinning inside. I got him, finally. I have hurt him. It isn’t even close to revenge and it's petty, but I'll take anything I can get.

  I can hear the confusion in his panicked voice when he screams after me, "Lorelei, wait. I can make up for that. I can't believe it was your first time. I mean I can...I could tell… But trust me, the second time is way more fun. You got me all worked up. I didn't know ya were really a virgin. I honestly didn’t believe you." His voice cracks and I almost laugh.

  I look back at him standing in the field with his pants around his ankles and his shirt torn from his body. He looks remarkable in the moonlight.

  "Of course it was my first time, I don’t just sleep around, Whit. We talked about this. I'm not that kind of girl. You of all people know how I was raised." I stand in the dead grass and struggle to pull my pants up as he comes towards me holding my boots. I do my pants up and take my boots one at a time.

  He has his pants on but his naked torso is distracting me. He has tattoos I never noticed before. I've never seen him without his shirt before - I don’t think I have. If I did, I must have been hopped up on my sex drive. I force my eyes away from the black ink that trails up the side of his ribs and the under side of one of his arms. The other arm had a band around it. They all look Scottish, or Celtic. I don’t even know how I missed them when I was ripping at his clothes so many times.

  "I think we should talk about this." He looks upset. It’s filling me with warmth and bitter happiness. "You have to give me a second chance. I was too turned on, I've waited forty-eight years for you."

  I grin and pull my boot on and turn away from him.

  He grabs my arm, "Wait."

  I rip it from his grip, "No, thanks." I smirk back at him, "You got what you wanted from me, Whit. Now leave me alone. We aren't doing that again, not ever."

  His face is angry again. He gets angry fast. Like Emily.

  He sputters things I don’t understand but they all sound like Och and loch. He has a Scottish rage like I've never heard before. I don’t know what Och means but I think it's bad. He grabs his hair and pulls on it and then finally speaks calmly, "If you think that’s all I ever wanted you're mistaken, lass." He froths and points at me, "I can have that any night of the week. That isn’t the part I want, Lorelei."

  I feel like he's kicked me in the stomach.

  His mouth drops open when he sees my face.

  "I meant your heart. I want your heart." He puts a hand up, but I run. He can't catch me. I can hear him yelling at me but I don’t care. My hate is fresh all over again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Luke points and rattles on, "So the whole basement has been dug out and we stripped away the asbestos boards and pipe lining. I have been able to preserve some of the clapboard. The kitchen and butler's pantry have been stripped and everything is down to the studs. Some places the whole wall is being replaced. We've drywalled and built rooms in the basement again. Some even got doors on them."

  I watch him talk and try not to notice his lips and the sensual way they move.

  I look around and smile, "It's amazing how much better it is with the mold and plants and cracks gone."

  He nods and crosses his thick arms. "I've also ordered the slate for the backsplash and the floor. Not matching, but keeping in a theme. And I was thinking maybe those cool old-looking Viking appliances. Then they would be modern, but not too modern for the feel of the house." He gives me a dimply smile and my dead heart flutters.

  I smirk at him, "Someone has a little flare for the design side of things. Maybe I'll cancel the designer coming in from New Orleans."

  He nods and looks around, "I'm a full service contractor, Lorelei."

  I grin and let it be a dirty comment. "I'll keep that in mind." My mind has been nastier than anything since the dirtiness with Whit in the field.

  He slaps the old walls and brushes them, making dust linger in the thick night air, "Keep it in mind and consider us designing the house together. I really think we can."

  I look up and my stomach quivers. I know it's not hunger. I won't be hungry again for a month. It's want. I want him. I can feel it. I don’t sense he feels the same way. He likes the old house. He's nervous around me but not in a sexy way.

  My sister's voice breaks the awkward silence, "You must be the contractor Lorelei has spoken so highly of."

  I cringe and turn to see her walking toward us. She is dressed in a white
vintage flapper dress and very high heels.

  "You goin’ to a costume party, Emily?" I smirk.

  She grins and nods, "Sort of." She holds a hand out. I grimace as he takes her hand. It appears solid. He can touch her. It's not just me; she is like a real person. I'm still freaking out though.

  He grins like a schoolboy, "Luke. Luke Derringer. Pleasure to meet you."

  She bats her fake lashes, "Charmed, Mr. Derringer. My sister seems to have forgotten her manners. I'm her younger sister Emily. Emily Huntington."

  He blushes and watches her, "Pleasure, Miss Huntington."

  They look at me and I'm lost in a million thoughts. She is a ghost ain't she? Am I hallucinating? Is he turning red and flirting with her?

  He stammers and clears his throat, "Well, I was just telling your sister here that we will be replacing the windows. It's a sacrifice to the character but we have to. The heat bills will be outlandish with the old frames. And the plaster in the kitchen and tin ceiling in the dining room are gonna have to go." He talks fast around her, like he's nervous.

  I watch her responses and expressions. She is genuinely interested in him. I can see it in her eyes. She looks at him the way she did Greg. She likes him. In all the weeks he's been here she's been hiding out, but I wonder how long she has been watching him.

  They ignore me completely and he starts taking her on a tour of the house.

  I look back at the old staircase in front of us and marvel at how far his guys have come in a few weeks. I look back to where Em has gone with Luke. I hope he'll be okay with her. I take the first few steps and try not to remember my last night in this foyer. I touch the banister and shudder.

  When I turn around Whit's there. He sees the look on my face and knows. He knows I'm thinking about it. He's standing in the front entryway watching me. He leans on the newly fixed doorway in fitted jeans and a charcoal grey V-neck T-shirt. He looks thick and sexy and exactly like I remember him from that night. His stare meets me with the same heat and intensity as it did that night. I sit on the pile of wood and watch him.

  We don’t move or speak. We don’t have to. We have had these conversations a million times. Just not with the other person there. I know what I want to say to him. I know what I want to do to him. I want to rip a stake from the boards on the floor and stab him in the heart, like I did his friends at the hiding house. Only I want him to live through it all and let him ravish me, the right way. Not rushed and brutal but slow and sweet.