I finish unpacking the car, because amongst other things I’ve bought a cheap set of tracksuit and trainers. I strip out of my stripper wear and into my ugly but practical new attire. The velvet dress, damaged and stained during my struggle with Cleo, goes straight into the bin. I strip the covers off the sofa and put these, with a handful of salt, in the washing machine on a cold cycle.
Outside in the back garden, I drag Adam across the grass and behind the shed, and spend a couple of hours digging a grave. After some thought, I make it long enough for two bodies. I really hate digging graves, but at least on this occasion there are spades, forks and even a pickaxe to help. It’s a well-stocked shed. Finally I judge the hole deep enough to conceal a body for a good length of time, and manoeuvre Adam into one end of the trench — with some difficulty since rigor mortis is beginning to set in. Before covering him with earth, I take the pickaxe and attack the fresh wound in his neck, and also the scar on his neck from my bite, and the other on his wrist where Cleo fed earlier, obliterating evidence of vampiric assault.
I clean the tools and tidy them away, but before returning to the house I stand by the graves for a minute, one concealing its occupant, the other yawning hungrily in anticipation. Suddenly I’m fighting back tears — but what right do I have to feel sorry for myself? I chose to turn Cleo, knew that I was unleashing a new monster like myself on the world. I kidnapped Adam and Danny and brought them here, knowing from the start that I was bringing them to a cruel death. For perhaps the very first time in my life, I can’t lay the ultimate blame on someone else. ‘I’m sorry, Adam,’ I whisper.
Back in the bungalow I head straight for the shower, but Danny is still in there, sitting under the warm torrent with a vacant expression. ‘Hey,’ I tell him gently. ‘Come out. Dry yourself. Go make yourself some lunch and watch television.’ He nods, and obeys slowly. Definitely broken, I think.
I step in the shower and turn the temperature to the maximum. It’s a good shower that maintains pressure even when the water is hot, and the scalding rain gradually cleanses me of dirt, disturbing memories and self-pity.
*
Cleo is curled up on her side, as much as the restraints allow, and it’s plain she’s been crying. I free her hands and wrap myself around her.
‘I told you no feeding.’
‘I know, but I was so hungry, I thought a mouthful wouldn’t hurt. But it tastes so good. I couldn’t stop. I was even angry that he died. Oh, God.’ She is overcome with convulsive sobbing. I hold her tightly.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say when she starts to calm down.
She laughs through her tears. ‘What do you have to be sorry about? I just killed one man and went crazed superslut on another.’
‘Did you enjoy it?’
‘Yes,’ she whispers, triggering a fresh round of sobbing, and this lasts for a long time. I almost think she’s asleep when she says, ‘But I don’t want to. Not like that. I thought being a vampire, well, that I’d drink blood instead of eat food, but everything else would be the same.’
‘Idiot.’
She laughs. ‘I know. But you look so normal. Well, not normal, but human anyway.’
‘Don’t give up on the parts of you that are still human. You can’t escape what you are, but you can control it. That’s why I’m sorry — I thought you would be able to.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Shh. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve killed and ended up fucking everything and anything in a desperate need for sexual satisfaction, and woken up later screaming with self-loathing. Please don’t kill yourself over this.’
‘I’m beginning to understand why you would ask my forgiveness.’
‘Do you think you ever could?’
She grips my arm tightly. ‘Don’t ever leave me, Suzie.’
‘Never.’
*
I’m woken by the faint chirp of my phone. I’ve left it charging in the dining room. Cleo wakes also, the instant I move. ‘Back in a moment, honey,’ I tell her and kiss the exposed side of her neck. Danny is lying on the sofa staring emptily at the television, The One Show, and maybe he doesn’t even notice me walking past in front of him. Here I am, young, naked and — in my own humble opinion — beautiful, and there’s not even a flicker of interest in his emerald eyes. The same man who savaged me on this very sofa last night.
I sigh. It’s less that twenty four hours since I kidnapped the two men, and now one is dead and the other descending into a vegetative state. I really hadn’t expected events to progress so rapidly. I hunt through the shopping bags for the black trousers and pale blue shirt I bought earlier today. They really don’t suit me — they definitely take the Q out of Suzie Kew — but they fit reasonably well, and at least I still have the Burberry heels. I’m still a little in shock after throwing the Tributes in the bin on Saturday. The damaged Pleasers also went into the bin, so there’s only these and the Dior sandals left now.
There are several messages waiting for me on my phone, all sent today from the same number, one I don’t recognise. ‘Hi Carnaby, can we meet? - J’, the first one says. ‘Hi Carnaby, let’s meet. Get back to me asap! - J’, is the next, and so on in a similar vein.
I suddenly feel very old. Almost five hundred years old, in fact. Alia calling me Carnaby can only mean that someone, probably the police, is hunting me. It’s not completely unexpected, but it’s a lot sooner than I would have guessed, and I had intended to be off in the Caymans by now, mourning the sad demise of Suzie Kew. ‘The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men,’ I mutter to myself, then hit reply. ‘Noon tomorrow OK? Usual place? Luv 2 A.’ If the police haven’t found me so far, then I guess I’m safe enough for tonight. I guess I’m lucky also that Cleo’s transformation has been so swift.
A minute later there’s another chirp. ‘Great. Everyone’s looking forward to meeting you.’
Back in Cleo’s room, I free her ankles. She’s sitting up drinking water. Her hair is dishevelled and her bare breasts a patchwork of blood stains, but there’s a new vitality, and also a hint of danger and excitement that I’ve never seen in her before. ‘I’m suddenly so thirsty,’ she says. ‘And I think I need to pee. Do vampires pee?’
‘Of course.’
She laughs. ‘I can’t believe how human vampires really are. Do we have any special powers?’
‘You mean apart from eternal youth and perfect healing?’
‘Yeah, like, can we turn into bats and wolves and mist?’
‘No, but you can wear six-inch heels all day every day without worrying about damage to your spine.’
‘That is pretty cool, I guess. What about super-speed?’
‘Well, we can move and react a little faster than humans, but only very slightly. Enough to startle without seeming unnatural. We’re also stronger than we look, and our senses are sharper, but don’t rely on that. Your greatest weapon at all times is that you can look completely harmless, completely vulnerable.’
‘What about my eyes? Can I hypnotise people?’
‘You can, and you have. It’s strongest when you’re hungry, but you will learn to control it consciously in time.’
She leans forward and tries to dazzle me with her eyes, but there’s just the faintest hint of something dancing in them. I do my best to relax and radiate peace and serenity, and for a moment she almost sinks into the warmth and promise of my gaze, but then she flinches away with a scream that turns into joyful laughter. ‘Fuck, that’s amazing!’
‘It’s less fun when the person doing it is raging and screaming orders.’
‘Is that what I was doing?’
‘Yes. You need to be careful with it, though. It’s stronger than hypnotism, and you can damage people if you push too hard. On the other hand, if you don’t push hard enough, your control will slowly unravel.’
‘Speaking of control,’ she says, rolling off the bed onto her feet, ‘I really do need to pee now.’
‘You really need to shower as well.’
; ‘I know,’ she says quietly, and I catch a glimpse of Cleo’s conscience, guilt-ridden and grief-stricken, before she turns and walks out of the room.
I would love to just sit back and relax for a while, but suddenly there’s too much to be done. I start by uncoupling Danny from the long chain. He’s so unresponsive there’s no threat from him. In fact, I have to really focus my dazzling eyes into his before I am able to get him to stand and follow me through into Cleo’s bedroom. It’s a little like trying to move treacle by blowing on it. I lie him on the bed and lock him to the chains.
I get to work, starting with sofa covers which are still outside in the garden. The weather today has been cold and even a little wet, so I’m not sure the covers are any drier, but I bring these inside and drape them over the dining room chairs. Then I remove the padlocks from the long chain, and put the three coils in a corner of the garden shed. I leave the rings in the walls, with padlocks attached, and also the leather restraints I used on Cleo. It won’t be difficult for whoever comes here next to imagine some delightfully kinky sex games. I’m actually imagining a few myself, quite aroused by the idea of Cleo trapped against the wall. When Cleo emerges from the shower a few minutes later, I grab her and kiss her and dig sharp nails into the flesh of her bum until she swears and pushes me away, laughing.
While she dries herself, I open another bottle of Lapelletrie and pour two glasses. Cleo and I spend the next few hours drinking wine, watching television, kissing during the adverts, and generally making love in a variety of pleasant ways. There’s no need for restraints.
Rendezvous (Friday)
We sleep for a while, but Cleo is restless, agitated, and by three in the morning we’re both wide awake. I make us each a cup of tea, but her hands have started to tremble and she spills hot tea on her hand when she picks up the mug. ‘I don’t want fucking tea,’ she shouts at no one in particular.
‘I know, honey,’ I say quietly. ‘Come on.’ I lead her to the bedroom where Danny is asleep. Cleo hesitates at the doorway, torn for a moment between lust for Danny’s blood, and shame for wanting it. ‘It will get easier after this,’ I tell her, ‘but right now you need to feed.’
She nods, lets go of the door frame and, as if that was all that stopped her moving, drifts slowly into the room, to the bed, onto the bed. Danny, naked, fully exposed, vulnerable and unresisting, may look unconscious, but his cock erects itself as she straddles him. I wonder what on earth she did to him yesterday that he responds so swiftly to her presence while appearing otherwise to be in a deep coma.
Cleo ignores the monster waking between her thighs, sniffing instead at Danny’s neck and chest, and then sinks her fangs into his jugular. I watch for a while as she drinks hungrily at the dark flow, then I lie down behind her, spread Danny’s legs, and bite into his thigh, finding the great saphenous vein with ease. I can tell immediately that his blood pressure is down, and I can feel his heart racing. Even if we stopped now and rushed him to the hospital, I doubt whether he would recover. We don’t stop, not until his heart finally stops.
We sit up and look at each other. Cleo’s skin is a healthy rosy colour, her breasts full and beautiful. The way she licks her bloodstained lips is erotic with danger. She is vibrant and excited, and her glittering eyes echo the same fresh hunger that I feel for her. We launch at each other, grabbing, scratching and biting in a sexual feeding frenzy, barely even noticing when we roll off the bed and crash onto the polythene-covered floor. It’s a violent lovemaking that no human could survive, a fusion of pain, pleasure and bitter vampiric blood that lasts for hours until we collapse exhausted in each other’s arms.
‘Holy fuck, Batgirl,’ Cleo says, panting, making me laugh. For the moment I am blissfully happy. I want to stay like this, wrapped in Cleo’s arms, for the rest of eternity. But the cooling remains of Danny, still locked to the chains on the bed, remind me that there’s a lot still to be done before we can safely leave this place.
*
In London, we park in the multi-storey behind St Pancras. I send Cleo to buy two day tickets for the Tube, while I put my suitcase into Left Luggage using my Sarah Bartlett identity. We rendezvous at Le Pain Quotidien where we share a pot of tea and watch the human world race past on the other side of the glass wall.
‘This is very civilised,’ Cleo says, amused and thoughtful.
‘I always stop here when I catch the train to Paris.’
‘I thought we were meeting Alia.’
‘We are. Later. Noon. First we need to disguise ourselves, because I don’t know who’s looking for me, or us. So first we’re going to Escapade in Camden for wigs, then Carnaby Street.’
‘Illamasqua?’
‘If you like, but we’re meeting Alia at Sacred, and I want to get there early.’
‘I’d like to see my mum.’
‘I think you should. But let’s talk to Alia first, and then we can plan something.’
*
At half past eleven we arrive at Sacred. We’ve had fun shopping, and we’re wearing the same Illamasqua make-up — Drench pink berry red lipstick and Entangle slate grey eye shadow. We even had time to grab jeans and T-shirts from Desigual, where Cleo also found a gorgeous silver coat with flowery designs traced in black, while I popped into Jaeger for a Fulham jacket. I feel like I’ve been reborn. The only remnants of our previous attire are the shoes. To top everything off, my long hair is braided and hidden under a blonde Lola wig, straight and tiered, while Cleo’s is similarly hidden under a baby pink Candy wig. Cleo looks so sexy, good enough to eat, and we attracted a lot of attention walking up Carnaby Street.
We order coffee and water and sit on the bench along the wall, and while we wait for Alia we hold hands and kiss like teenage lovers. When Alia arrives with Jamie shortly before noon we don’t stop, but I do watch for anyone who might be following Alia. If anyone is, however, they’re very discrete. When Jamie leaves with her takeaway latte, I wave to Alia and her eyes open in surprise.
‘I hardly recognise you,’ she says as she joins us. ‘Especially you,’ she adds, studying Cleo with amazement. ‘On Saturday you were just a scared kid. Wednesday you were thin as a rake and deathly sick. Now, two days later, you look like a professional model. But it’s not just your appearance...’ Alia sits back with a frown, while Cleo waits with an air of polite curiosity that doesn’t seem quite genuine to me. ‘No,’ Alia continues after a minute. ‘There’s something of the predator about you now.’
‘Cleo’s still adjusting,’ I say. ‘So, what’s up, Alia?’
‘Yes, okay. Sorry. This is partly my fault.’
‘What is?’
‘Just let me explain. After you phoned on Sunday, I started thinking about Valon. You know, where was all that money coming from? Of course, it was probably drugs, extortion, prostitution, all the usual, but the idea that started batting around inside my head was, well, Valon’s east European, maybe it was human trafficking. So, on Monday, I phoned Ricky, over at the Met.’ Alia occasionally helps Ricky track down people that the police are unable to locate, and I share with him a lot of the gossip I pick up at Dave’s. In return, Ricky is a useful inside man on the force. ‘Well, he’d heard the name, but didn’t really know anything, but his old partner, Ian, works for SOCA so if I wanted he could ask Ian.’
‘What’s SOCA?’ Cleo asks.
‘Serious Organised Crime Agency,’ explains Alia. ‘I told him to go ahead, and that was that until Wednesday evening, when I met Ricky for a drink and a chat. He’d had a quiet word with Ian, and basically all SOCA has on Valon is rumours.’
‘What rumours?’ I ask.
‘Exactly what I feared. He supplies eastern European girls to the saunas and other off-street brothels. The bad ones. Drunk, violent men paying forty quid for half-hour sessions, the girls beaten and raped for twelve hours a day, every day, the money split between the saunas and the suppliers, the traffickers like Valon. The rumours say he’s controlling over a hundred girls, so he must be raking in twe
nty grand a day. Those poor girls. I’ve read that sometimes they’re kidnapped from their own homes.’
Alia’s anguish over the fate of these girls is clear from the tension in her muscles and her rapid breathing. I understand part of what she wants from me. ‘It’s one thing to steal money from a thief,’ I say, taking her hands in mine, ‘but how can I keep it now that I know what it represents?’
She grabs hold of me suddenly and hugs me tightly. ‘Oh, Suzie,’ she cries softly, ‘I knew you’d understand. Thank you!’ She lets go of me eventually, and wipes her eyes with a napkin. ‘Anyway, the FIU are watching all Suzie Kew’s accounts now. They might not be able to stop you taking the money out, but I imagine it’s more attention than you really want.’
‘FIU?’ Cleo asks.
‘The Financial Intelligence Unit, part of SOCA. By the way,’ she adds to me, ‘Missing Persons is now at SOCA too.’
‘Any real changes?’
‘Not yet. So, Senior Investigating Officer George Roberts from the FIU phoned me yesterday morning, said he was looking for Suzie Kew and understood that I had been her employer for four years, and did I know how he could find her. Completely took me by surprise. I confirmed you had worked for me sometimes, but that you had just left the country, possibly for good, and that you hadn’t left any contact details.’
‘Did he believe you?’
‘Probably not. He asked to meet me urgently to discuss details, so I suggested he come to my office yesterday afternoon at three o’clock. However, when I arrived at the office just before three, there was a woman standing outside the door. I asked if I could help her, and she said she was looking for her daughter. “I’m sorry,” I told her, “I have another appointment now, but I’ll be glad to speak to you later.”
‘She nodded, not really listening, and said, “Please, at least tell me how I can get hold of Mrs Suzie Kew.”’
‘Oh, no,’ I say, seeing where this is going.
‘Oh, no, indeed, but I wasn’t as quick as you. She started telling me how her daughter knows your daughter, and all I could think to say is, “But Suzie doesn’t have a daughter.” Which of course was a stupid thing to say, and I realised this immediately, even as I finally understood who I was talking to.’
Suzie and the Monsters Page 15