Sips of Blood

by Mary Ann Mitchell

  With a straight back and an easygoing gait he climbed the steps.

  "Bastard!" Marie's throat burned, but he never turned back.

  "Not my manner of thinking but the manner of thinking of others has been the source of my unhappiness. The reasoning man who scorns the prejudices of simpletons necessarily becomes the enemy of simpletons; he must expect as much, and laugh at the inevitable."

  The Marquis de Sade, in a letter to his wife.

  Chapter 29

  The confused Garrett had heard the fight. He had heard the breaking of bones, but had not viewed the scene. He knew, though, that La Maîtresse whimpered now, and he could not go to her.

  His armpits ached from the taut way in which he had been tied to the Eton bench. His legs he could barely feel. His stomach ached from the pressure of the bench. His buttocks stung. And he needed water to help bring back the saliva to his mouth.

  Until Maîtresse had interrupted them, he had been flying on a wave of elation, spinning in a heaven of euphoria. This man, Sade or whoever he was, knew how to mete out pain. Satisfied his slave before thinking of himself, unlike Letcher. Briefly from a corner of his eye he had seen the man licking a bloodied finger. To whom had the blood belonged? Garrett hoped it had been his own, for he had wanted a very personal bond to be formed with the man.

  He heard no movement, only the soft whimpers of a woman crying. Of La Maîtresse crying. Crying over spilled blood. Garrett heard the humor in the phrase but could not smile. He tried to form words. I wanted this. I enjoyed this. The words came out only as incomprehensible guttural sounds. The words defied his Maîtresse and brought shame to his soul.

  * * *

  Marie's fingers throbbed as she tried to move them. She used the back of one hand to feel the broken cheekbone. Sunken in. The touch sparked a flame of outrageous pain. Her fingers hung limp and useless. She could not even untie Garrett. Did she want to untie Garrett?

  The smell of his blood sent the top of her body reeling in a circular motion. Sade had tasted of this one's blood in front of her. Had Sade taken blood from Garrett earlier? Had she interrupted Sade before he could?

  Marie got to her knees and slowly crawled to where Garrett waited on the Bench. When she drew closer, she saw among Garrett's new wounds the yellow tinge of week-old bruises. She had not caused them.

  Voici your medicine. Sade's words held truth. There is her medicine. Her cure for the bones broken and the bruises caused by Sade's wrath. Garrett's blood would hasten the healing of her body. Garrett's blood would make her stronger.

  "Voici", she whispered, stretching out her neck to bring her lips closer to Garrett's flesh. Closer but not within reach.

  The cure or the bane? she wondered.

  Long ago she had forced Sade to give her this... not life, but a strange compromise with death. She had starved him of blood in prisons and would have let him die at the hands of the French peasants. How magnificent it would have been to watch his head bounce into the basket of the guillotine. She, of course, would have had to be in disguise amidst the mob; still, he would have been dead. She would have stolen his head and gouged his eyes out, racked at his brains, and then set the mess afire. But he had offered her the same immortality he had if she would free him. Yes, she saved him from the mob, but no, she could not bring herself to turn the monster free to go back to her daughter and grandchildren. She forced the animal into an insane asylum, where he learned of his true strength and eventually feigned his death.

  Thank God her daughter, Reneé, had died in a convent before he could reach her.

  Garrett's gurgling noises distracted her, and she moved to where his flushed face could be seen. Could he even see her? There is nothing you can offer him, Marie, she thought to herself. He smelled of blood, sweat, semen, and feces. Odors that mingled, and yet the scent of blood seemed singled out by her senses. She knew the taste of this blood. It had always been clean, healthy blood, blood she could dream of during her long respites. However, now it seemed tinged by a budding germ, not a simple cold. No, something heavier, muskier. Something possibly terminal. Something Sade had given him? No, vampires did not carry germs. Diseases could not survive in a vampire's dead body. Bereft of nutrition, the disease died shortly after entering the vampire's body. Sade could not pass on anything living to Garrett. And the disease flourished in Garrett's blood.

  Poor Garrett didn't know, couldn't know as yet, but unless something else happened to him, he would find out.

  Voici is your medicine. A medicine marked with an expiration date. Use before the man with the scythe claims him.

  Marie ached. Marie's eyes slowly closed. Yes, she needed sleep. Her coffin awaited upstairs on the second floor. It had been relined with a soft peach satin, although the home soil still supported her body. Sleep would bring back the freshness of her skin and bones. She dreaded the preamble to sleep. She always did, but especially now. Her body each day would semi-decay into the soil to be rejuvenated. Her wounds would make the decay more intense. The decay would spread to a greater portion of her body, and as it did, the smell would frighten her. The decay always made her sleep uneasy, and the decay seemed to worsen with the centuries. Always on awakening she would be whole. The staleness would still be there inside the box, but that she could escape for at least a while.

  Garrett gurgled some more. What did he want, she wondered. To be freed? To be beaten? To be fed upon?

  She bent her head back and looked up into his eyes. Glassy pupils stared back at her. The whites of his eyes held a network of intersecting red blood vessels.

  "Can a future be told by studying one's blood vessels, Garrett? I think I see your future." Delicately she brought her hands up so that he could see them. "My hands cannot rescue you."

  "Chauffeur" he hoarsely said.

  "My integrity cannot save you either. You were my most obedient slave. The most willing and giving. My favorite until..."

  * * *

  No! He did not want to hear these words. My favorite until... La Maîtresse never finished the sentence. It wasn't necessary, because he had known all along. She had sent him away to make room for another.

  His blood no longer nourished her fantasies. Instead she had thrown him aside like a used condom filled with spoiled desire.

  He looked at her damaged face and knew he would never see her again. He wished for a strong Maîtresse who could command and be obeyed.

  Sade had diminished her. Perhaps the ghost of the real Marquis de Sade had taken over the man's body.

  "Sade," he whispered and watched Maîtresse's eyes harden.

  "Sade," he whispered again, because he wanted to see that hate shine in La Maîtresse's eyes one more time.

  * * *

  "Sade is a strong-willed child, a demanding bully who will never grow up."

  She used the back of her right hand to wipe away the sweat dripping into Garrett's eyes. It was not clear what color his eyes were, and she felt ashamed that she couldn't recall. Weakly she lay back on the floor to stare up at Garrett. Careful, Marie, fall asleep here and the body will not recuperate. Instead she would wake weaker, without her soil to replenish with her native minerals.

  "You have family, don't you, Garrett? A wife, children. You never told me how many children. You have people to return to at home. It would be foolish to use you as my medicine, Garrett. I would have to flee. Inconvenient, given that my casket needs to be specially packed, with me stored safely inside it."

  * * *

  Maîtresse speaks of death as if it were upon her. Could she be hurt far more than he thought?

  Garrett's body throbbed with pain. He saw La Maîtresse, and then she disappeared into the dark, for how long he did not know. But then she appeared again. The same mutilated face, the same brown eyes that had nourished his obsession. Her voice seemed softer, kinder. Too kind. Where is her strength? Her upper lip started to swell. He thought he saw the lip pulse.

  Fear paced his pain. Hate weakened his spirit. Still, he caught gli
mpses of her, briefer now. The coldness of her body chilled his sweating flesh. He smelled waste, his own brought on by the torture.

  Only La Maîtresse and he existed, bound together in a spiralling darkness that would take them both.

  * * *

  "I'm sorry, Garrett." She had just realized that she would never be able to make it back to her coffin before passing out. "I'm so sorry, Garrett. I sent you away to save you. Now I must have you."

  She lifted her head to kiss him on the mouth. Pain passed between them. She glided her body from under his and stood.

  The wounds on his buttucks had clotted. As she bent down to look more closely at his wounds, her fangs automatically pushed out from between her lips. Touching the wounds, her teeth bit into the young scabs on his flesh and he bled anew. Her tongue lolled across the blood. She heard her own little lapping sounds. Evidently Garrett had heard also, for he squeaked out a "Thank you."

  No, thank you, she thought and would have said, only she couldn't draw her tongue back from the blood.

  The tension in her body began to ease.

  No, thank you, Garrett, for the gift of your life.

  Chapter 30

  Liliana fed her pets. The rabbit her uncle had given her had become more docile. A raccoon with singed fur licked her hand as she put down his dish. She had saved him from one of her uncle's temper tantrums. Minerva, the eighteen-year-old cat, yawned and plopped her fat body down for a delicate meal of sardines.

  These were animals she didn't have the heart to feed from. The others, the mélange of rats, mice, hamsters, and ferrets, she kept apart in an enclosed shack that had little light but was kept clean. The animals were so small that she had to drain several at one sitting, or perhaps, as she would put it, standing. Often she would stand in the shadows of the woods at twilight and swiftly wring the neck of her chosen meal, suck the animal dry, and discard the corpse quickly among the trees. What she didn't eat scavengers would pick at.

  "Miss?"

  "Yes, Matilda."

  "There's a young man here asking to see you. His name is David Petry."

  "Oh!"

  "I'm ready to leave for the day. Is there anything you'd like me to do first?"

  "Is my uncle home?"

  "I haven't seen him all day. Would you like me to wait around until your business with Mr. Petry is finished?"

  "No. Go on home, Matilda."

  Liliana noticed the relief in Matilda's expression. She hadn't wanted to stay another minute. Matter of fact, she had already slipped off her apron and stood in the doorway holding her pocketbook and vinyl tote.

  As the two women said goodbye, Liliana caught a glimpse of David Petry waiting in the salon. His build seemed almost identical to Stuart's, and he paced with the same nervous energy that the young soldier had possessed.

  "You wanted to see me, Mr. Petry?" Liliana drew her shoulders back and walked with a forced indifference.

  "Mr. Sade said that you would have some papers for me." He walked to where she stood and then retreated three steps.

  "My uncle didn't give me anything for you. Are you sure you were not supposed to see him directly?" Of course not; this was another try at getting her to drink fresh human blood. If she hadn't taken Stuart's blood, whatever made Sade think she would rob this young man of his life?

  "I feel awkward, but I'm sure of what he told me."

  "My uncle is not at home right now, so it's impossible to ask him; however, I'll remind him of this tonight." She certainly would.

  David started for the door.

  "Mr. Petry!"

  He turned quickly.

  "David, please."

  "Then you may call me Liliana. My uncle is trying to hook us up." Why the hell had she said that?

  "You mean like in dating?"

  "It goes beyond that."

  "I'm honored that he would consider me as a potential boyfriend."

  "You wouldn't be if you understood his motive."

  "Nothing so petty as to have me encourage you to eat rabbit, I hope?"

  "Nothing so petty."

  "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do now. Ask you out? Smile? Say I understand and then gracefully leave? What do you think I should do?"

  "Whatever your emotions lead you to do."

  "Is that an invitation to ask you out or an objective view of the situation?"

  "Both."

  David smiled broadly. His shoulders relaxed, and he heaved a great sigh.

  "In that case, why don't we humor your uncle and go to dinner this Friday evening?"

  Liliana turned her back on David. Curiosity kept making her want to see where the similarities between Stuart and David ended. Most probably she could sit through one date without jumping David's carotid.

  "My job is close to the city, so why don't I meet you in the city at the Four Seasons Grill?"

  David cleared his throat.

  "Sure."

  "Has my uncle given you a retainer as yet?"

  "A small one."

  "Don't settle for small, David. Ask for more. There's peril to your assignment."

  "Is he in trouble with the IRS?"

  "My uncle will pick up the dinner bill."

  "No. I mean, I couldn't allow that. I would really like to take you out to dinner, but perhaps you'll allow me to select a restaurant." He gave a crooked smile. "One that I can afford."

  Liliana's cold body tickled with the hint of warmth that sounded in his voice. She nodded agreement.

  The front door slammed shut, and a loud voice was singing a joyful aria from La Belle Hélène.

  "Evohè, que ces Déesses..."

  Sade's white complexion glowed. His long white hair flowed freely over his shoulders. The open poet's shirt revealed enough of his chest hair to emphasize his virility.

  "Monsieur Petry, I forgot you would be ici."

  "I'm certainly glad you are here. Your daugh--"

  "Niece," Liliana corrected.

  "Sorry. Your niece said that you had forgotten to give her the papers we had discussed over the telephone."

  "Un désastre, monsieur."

  "Excuse me, sir?"

  "A disaster."

  "What happened?"

  "Way too complex to explain right now, but maybe later. If you promise to stay for dinner."

  "I can't this evening, sir.

  "Is there a good time I can call you? I'm probably going to be out of the house most of the evening, but I can put aside some time to call you."

  "What will you be doing, monsieur?"

  "Uncle! It's none of our business."

  "Your niece is right, sir. I've made several special trips out here at your convenience; however, this can't continue. Perhaps you could fax the papers to me or--"

  "Monsieur, I have given you cash as a retainer."

  "Not enough cash, I would guess, Uncle. At least not for what you expect him to do."

  Sade glanced at his niece; his blue eyes had darkened into a storm-like gray.

  "Did you want more money, monsieur?"

  "How could I? I haven't done anything for you as yet."

  "Except to travel around at my uncle's whim."

  Sade brightened.

  "Certainly, monsieur, you must charge me for the time it took getting here and leaving."

  "I had planned on it."

  Liliana couldn't decide whether her uncle had given a smile or a sneer as he turned away to walk over to the bar.

  "You seemed to have enjoyed my cognac the last time you were here, monsieur. Would you like one now?"

  "No, I have to be driving back to the city. If you find the papers, sir, give me a call and we'll figure out some way to get together.

  "I look forward to this Friday evening, Liliana, and would certainly be glad to pick you up somewhere, unless you're driving in."

  "Don't like to drive. The glare of the headlights bothers me."

  "Then why don't you call me with the location of your employer, and I'll pick you up and take you home
."

  "Thank you, David. I'll speak to you later in the week. I'll get your number from my uncle."

  She walked him to the door and waved goodbye while he drove his car back onto the road.

  "Ma petite chérie, why make it so complicated?"

  "What?"

  "Waiting until Friday. I'm sure with your help we could have gotten him to stay for dinner. Ah! Je suis très heureux pour toi."

  "Happy for me, Uncle?"

  "Yes, that you are returning to the fold."

  "I'm merely meeting him for dinner."

  "Oui, but he will bring you back here."

  "And you will mind your own business."

  "I will help with the cleanup."

  "It won't be necessary, Uncle. I have far better self-control than you."

  With his right index finger he rubbed her left cheek and crossed downward to run the same finger across her lips.

  "When I made you immortal I gave you my blood. The hunger is always there, Liliana. Toujours."

  Chapter 31

  Tap, tap, tap.

  The chauffeur didn't budge.

  Marie rapped harder on the window of the car.

  The chauffeur moved a bit but did not waken.

  Marie banged on the window.

  Suddenly wide awake, the chauffeur seemed embarrassed. He pushed the button to make the window on his side open.

  "Normally I don't sleep so soundly. I doze a little. What time is it?" He checked his watch and shook his head. "Is Mr. Winter angry?"

  "He's beyond caring, I'm afraid."

  "Did he call a taxi?"

  "No, he doesn't need a taxi. It's so awful." Marie tried to cry, but it seemed impossible now after all she had been through. She, too, was beyond caring. "Mr. Winter is... dead. Come in and see for yourself."