Servant of the Undead
Page 14
He shifted, leaned his back against the wall. “Help me?”
Outside, the wind howled and snow smacked on the windowpanes. Finally, after a long silence, she sighed. “At least you think you’re smart.”
His mind spun with possibilities. What wasn’t he seeing? What had he missed?
She sat up, looked down at him. “Did you ever ask yourself why you got yourself in to this?”
That night in the library belonged to a different life. “Student loans,” he replied. His resentment was misplaced, but he indulged himself and added, “Something you don’t know anything about, I’m sure.”
“That’s it? You were stressed about your bills?”
He wasn’t going to admit that he’d thought writing the best crap for Bob’s rag of a paper would somehow land him a job at The Globe. Sitting there on the floor, naked, with his dick sticking out, that seemed like the most asinine of possibilities.
She leaned downward, her hair blocking the light from the street. Smirking, she waved toward his still hard cock. “Thought you didn’t want me?”
That had been a lie. But so what? She’d lied too, and he wanted to turn that back at her. “What have you done to help me? Not one single thing.”
She lay back down, spread her thighs, put her hands between her legs and started stroking her clit. The motion was so like Matthew. He watched her fingers. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
The green from her eyes glimmered from the bed. “I need it.”
“I’m not going to fuck you. I’m done with that. I’m done with all this.”
She stared at him but didn’t respond as she continued stoking herself, her fingers slipping in-between her slick folds. The blood in his veins started to thrum, pulsing downward to his cock.
“You can give it to me. Or I can come take it from you. Your choice.”
He moved toward her, breathing in the raw, icy scent, felt that metallic sheen coat his throat. Salvia trickled downward, sending a chill down his neck. “One last time.” He put his knee on the bed and thought about the ice-packed bodies on the other side of the wall. “But not again after this.”
She lifted her hand and tucked it, along with the other, behind her head. “That’s what they all say,” she said, then closed her eyes.
His other knee was on the bed now, he was crawling forward. “I’m different.”
“Prove it.” Looking at him with one eye, she said, “Fuck me one last time, then see if you can walk away.” She closed the eye. “See if I’ll let you.”
Knees between her thighs, he spread himself across her, then reached down and guided his cock in. After he slid his arms under her pale neck, he lowered his head and swallowed into the bitterness in his mouth. He’d become so accustomed to her body, that fucking her took no concentration. His hips moved automatically, and he was glad so little effort or concentration was required. Emotion? There was none of that either. None except the blackness that seeped in to his mind, blocking out what should’ve been there--something that would have meant the mindless coupling was what he wanted, something that mattered.
“Slow down,” she said, turning her face and trying to cover his mouth with her cool lips.
He moved his face away and continued pumping in to her.
“Wait.” She tried again to kiss him, the second time she even added some tenderness as she whispered into his ear. “What if it could be different?”
It was only then that he realized she’d stopped moving with him. Her body was stiff, tense and cold. But it was too late to say anything, or do anything different. He was already coming, the frantic, hard spasms squeezing the cum from his cock, spilling it inside her.
“Did you come?” he asked.
No reply, no movement. A long minute passed until the soft rustle of the bed cover cut through the silence. “You couldn’t tell?”
No, not that time.
She’d moved to sit beside him. He was looking for a green gleam, thought he saw something, but it could have been light from the street. “Do you care?”
“No.” That was the truth. “Like I said, last time.”
Rough laughter came from her throat as she continued writhing on the bed, bending and curling with an uncanny combination of beauty and evil. So wrong. Everything about her.
“I don’t care what you do to me. I’m not living like this.” He gestured to her. “Like that.”
More mocking laughter from the thing he’d let ruin his life. Somewhere inside himself he searched for the last shreds of his ragged dignity. This was the end, whatever it was going to be he’d take it. He didn’t want the notes. Or the journal. Or one more minute of this disgusting shitstorm. “Go look in my bathroom.”
That made her stop, every muscle in her body locked into place. One of her eyebrows twisted. She mouth pulled into that all-knowing smirk.
He watched the curl of her mouth and then stared into her eyes. Nothing in her expression changed.
All in.
He tensed, knowing that his command to her changed everything. Jerking his chin toward the door, he said. “Go. Do it.”
She got up, stood up in front of him, intentionally showing off her powerful body for a few seconds before turning around and stalking away. The quick thud of her bare feet on the wood floor faded, then stopped. Then nothing but the thump of his heart. Those bodies were the only bargaining chip he had. Giving them up should send her back to Matthew, get her back into his good graces, so she could go back to doing whatever nefarious shit she wanted.
Moments later, the apartment was still quiet. He got up, went through the dark hall, then eased open the bathroom door. She sat on edge of the tub, her mass of hair hanging down, blocking her face from his view. She’d pulled the burlap from the thing’s face and was stroking its cheek. The body had shoulder length brown hair, delicate eyebrows but a strong, bold nose. Its mouth was closed, lips chapped and chalky white. Its skin was the same, chalky, but with an olive tone. Man or woman, it was impossible to tell.
“He must be pissed about this.” She tucked some of the strands of hair behind its ear then without waiting for a response, she pulled the burlap from the other’s face. The second one was clearly female, but how old he was, he couldn’t’ tell. Maybe in her early 20s. Mattie ran a fingertip under the girl’s chin, then turned to where Hayden was standing in the doorway. “Going to tell me how you managed to get these from Guy?”
By the time his surprise passed over his face he knew it was too late to brother hiding it. “How did you know it was Guy who had them?”
“I’m the one who delivered them.” She folded her arms under her massive tits and watched his face. “Don’t tell me you thought that asshole somehow managed to sneak into the camp and steal dormants during my watch?”
He grabbed a towel from the rack, wrapped it around his waist, then moved to the window. Flecks of white swirling in the streetlights, then moving off into the night. It was constant, this storm, her insidiousness. He nudged the window open, letting the chill in. The bitter air moved across him, so much like her, always there and trying to get inside his skin. “I guess I didn’t know it was your watch.”
Her mouth pulled tight as she slid him a look. “Why do you think Matthew was in my face about it?”
Not that he cared anymore, but she had a point.
She turned away from him, back to the bodies in his tub. “Thanks for helping me out, Hayden. Again.” Using both hands, she covered the girl’s face then pulled the burlap over the other’s, covering everything but its chin. She spoke softly. “I’m taking them back, you know.”
“If you didn’t want Guy to have them, why did you give him them in the first place?”
She tossed one of the ice bags onto the floor. “Tit for tat. Isn’t that always the way?”
Right. He was Plan B. Getting what she wanted on her own, plan A. “Did you get what you wanted from Guy?” Fuck. She’d used him so thoroughly, sucked him in so completely. And he’d let her.
“You already know the answer to that. And thanks to you, it didn’t cost me anything.” More half-melted bags of ice hit the floor as she continued flinging the bags. “In fact, now I’ll look like a hero, bringing these back.” A bag hit the floor with a hard thump, then slid onto Hayden’s foot. Icy water slid down between his toes.
He kicked the bag toward the tub. It left a wet trail across the tiles. “I’m done with all this fucked up shit.”
“What about your article? What about your loans?” The last bag flew through the air, hit the pile with a soft rustle. Her hands were dripping with cold water. She leaned her back against the wall and cupped her breasts, pinched her nipples, making them peaked and wet. “What about your sweet girlfriend Rachelle?”
Dragging his gaze from her tits, he snarled, “Fuck you.”
“Yeah, fuck you too, Hayden.” Her breasts, still slick and tight, bounced when she let go of them, then swung as she stood. “Now that I got what I wanted from Guy, I don’t need you anymore,” she said, then brushed past him into the hall.
Tugging the towel tighter around his hips, he followed her to his bedroom, watched her snatch up her things from his bed. Silently, she slipped into her skirt, then bound her breasts with the red straps. After her tightening her boots, she grabbed her leather and slid it over her shoulders as she headed back to the bathroom. He followed, found her lifting the first of the two bodies up onto her shoulder. He knew from his own experience with them that they were lighter than they looked, so he wasn’t surprised to see her heft the second up onto the other shoulder. He stepped back, watched her strut down his hall, stopping at the door. He slipped around her, yanked the door open. Without even a sideways glance, she worked herself through the threshold, out onto the landing, then started down the steps.
No last word. Not even a last nasty look.
She was just gone.
With a light shove, he closed the door.
Chapter Twelve
“Tit for tat. Isn’t that always the way?”
About 12 hours later, after a shockingly successful day at work, Hayden approached his building. The piece he’d done on the convention had generated way more hits than it was worth. The pictures he’d taken of Guy sure had come in handy. The ones he’d used for the piece—and the ones he’d used to convince the man to whip up some sketches in a hurry—were pure genius. The sketches Hayden had sent in to accompany the photo of Guy claimed to be from the zombie tracker’s most recent experiences with the tribe. The scene of human sex slaves tied to trees looked a hell of a lot like the ones from the book, but the readers didn’t give a shit. They just wanted to believe that kind of horror had been going on just miles from the city. What if they knew the truth? Had lived through it like he had?
A nasty gust whipped across Hayden’s face, grabbing his scarf, making it fly out in front of him. He tucked it back into his coat, and started toward his place, thinking about whether he’d be celebrating with a beer or if he’d finally open that bottle of Luis Felipe his uncle had given him for graduation.
It wasn’t the celebration he’d wanted, those connections he’d been trying to pry from Bob would have to come later. Hayden didn’t give a shit. He’d gotten the pieces done. Bob was more than satisfied. Mattie was gone. Rachelle was talking to him again, promising to be around later with another surprise. Every time he wondered how she’d come out of that experience unscathed, he pushed the questions and fears to the back of his mind. Just be glad it’s over. Just be glad she’s not asking questions. No questions meant no answers and no answers meant not telling the truth. Those were all lies and secrets he’d be taking to the grave.
The fresh piles of snow blocked the corner and he had to slow to climb through them. Hunks of ice slipped into his pants and sent shivers up his calves. He didn’t care. In minutes, he’d be kicking his boots off, peeling off his socks, shaking his pants down and getting naked. Should he invite himself over to Rachelle’s or invite her to his? His had a bigger bed, hotter water. He slid his phone out, ready to tell her to meet him there when he spotted her coming down the apartment steps. She was wearing the fur and carrying a cardboard box. She moved slowly, her gaze focused on the ice-covered steps.
He hurried to meet her at the bottom. “Hey,” he said when she nearly slammed into him.
She stopped short, the box shook as she looked up, her face blank. “Hey.”
The sleeve of her favorite sweater hung down the side of the box. An old pair of sweatpants, a pile of books and her favorite coffee mug—the one she always drank out of first thing in the morning when she spent the night—were crowded together.
Hayden opened his mouth to apologize, again, for what he didn’t even know but it seemed the only way to get her to stop, but a familiar voice stopped him short.
“Yo, Hayden.”
Matthew brushed past him, shoving his bony shoulder into him.
Rachelle’s gaze darted from the box to Hayden to Matthew then back to Hayden. “I’m— I—”
“Rachelle? What are you doing?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it, Hayden?” Matthew said, standing beside Rachelle.
“Fuck you,” Hayden replied. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he took a step back, out of Matthew’s quick reach. Rachelle shrugged. “Semester’s over, I can just hang out for a while.”
He stared at the coffee mug. “Why?”
Her hair caught in the wind, and she reached up to brush it from her face. “I want to.”
Hayden’s stomach tensed and then rolled. “You’re going back to the camp?”
“Yeah.” She shifted the box so it sat on her hip, creating a barrier between them. “They like me. And its fun.”
Matthew put his hand on Rachelle’s back, guiding her down the steps.
When Rachelle reached the sidewalk, she handed the box to Matthew, then came back up the steps. “I know about the tea, Hayden. Mattie told me. She told me everything.”
“Rachelle, you don’t remember what happened there.” He set his hand on her waist. “You need—”
She blinked and moved away from him, back toward Matthew. “Fuck off, Hayden.”
He followed her down the steps. “They didn’t tell you everything. You don’t understand what hap—”
“You’re the one who doesn’t understand.” Matthew had met Rachelle halfway, his long fingers pale against the brown box as he took it. “For one thing, you don’t understand my sister at all. Not one bit. You’re the one she didn’t tell everything.”
Matthew smirked and walked away, heading back to the battered green Chevy truck parked between a black Audi A4 and Mercedes wagon. Rachelle turned and jogged after him. Matthew, put the box in the back, dug around in the bed, then came back with a coil of rope and a thermos. Rachelle drank what was offered to her, then lifted her hands, putting her wrists together. She climbed into the truck cab, scooted over to the passenger side then stared straight ahead.
Hayden turned. The doorway of the brownstone was empty, the steps clear. Even though it was dark outside, it wasn’t that late, so most of the windows of the building were yellow with light. There was nothing unusual there, except a long narrow shadow on the roof. It wasn’t a shadow, Hayden realized. It was her, lying across the steep roof, her long net-covered legs stretched out behind her, her entire body still, stiff and cold, her eyes growing green.
About the Author
Isabelle Drake got her start writing confession stories for pulp magazines like True Confessions and True Love. Since publishing those first few stories she has written in multiple genres, earned an MFA in Creative Writing and became an English & Writing Professor.
When away from her keyboard, she watches films, especially classic noir, horror and romance, and reads (of course). An avid traveler, she’ll go just about anywhere--at least once--to meet people and get ideas.
Find Isabelle as Isabelle Drake on Facebook, Youtube and Goodreads & @isabelledrake on Instagram, Twitter and Tumblr & i
sadrake on Snapchat.
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