by Atha, DL
I felt the spasm of the muscles in my neck first because of the speed and then I felt the slice of his fangs through my skin almost like an afterthought. Kind of like a nurse who is really good at giving shots. You feel the medicine being pushed into your muscle before you ever feel the needle. The pain was not as intense as I expected but within a few moments, my vision began to tunnel. I could feel his muscles contracting against my skin as he swallowed. My last coherent thought was of a small trickle of blood collecting in my hair.
two
The bleating of the fire alarm seemed exceptionally loud, but perhaps it was the massive headache banging in my head that added to the sound. Confused at first, I spread my hands out beside me attempting to determine where I was.
The lights were off and only a small shaft of light wrapped into the room from underneath a door. Continuing to palpate my surroundings, I recognized the smoothness of the silk bedspread that covered my bed. I started to sit up but the muscles in my back and legs were burning and I decided it wasn’t worth the effort.
Reaching up with arms of lead to run my fingers through my hair, I felt as though the left side of my neck was numb and tingled ever so slightly. I only noticed because of its contrast to every other part of me, which was aching and burning. Sudden remembrance made me gasp out loud and tracing the contours of my neck, I couldn’t find the puncture wounds that I knew should be there. I ran the sensitive pads of my fingers over the skin again and again till the skin on my neck became sore, but still I was unable to locate the wounds.
I doubted my sanity for a moment, questioning what I thought I had seen. But focusing on the tingling in my neck, I was sure that I hadn’t imagined any of the evening. I simply didn’t understand it especially the fact that I was still alive. Why was I still alive? Death had been inescapable, I was sure of it.
As I became more aware of my surroundings, I realized there were voices coming from the foyer; a smooth, calm voice and the rough gravelly voice of the fire marshal. I knew the last one well as I had set off a lot of fire alarms in the short time I had lived here.
This would probably be my last opportunity for help and I suppressed a twinge of guilt knowing I would probably get the marshal killed as well. I slowly got up off the bed, being as quiet as I could. My pain faded to the back of my mind as I made my way as stealthily as I could into the foyer.
From where I stood, I could see the monster talking to the fire marshal. He had his back to me, his left hand was resting on the top of the door, his right hand resting on his right hip. He looked casual, nothing like he had a short while before.
I didn’t think he had noticed me and I brought my hands up to signal nine-one-one to the fireman, but he turned, still very casually, and stopped me with one sentence. “Our daughter will be home very soon, in a week actually.” He smiled at me as he said it, cold and menacing, and I felt my blood run cold from my head to my toes, my hands dropped uselessly to my sides.
“Well, I’ll be getting out of your hair now. It was nice to meet you. Tell Ellie I said hi when she comes home.” Leaning around whatever kind of monster it was that stood in my entry way, the marshal, not realizing that I was in any danger, waved politely and reminded me to be more careful with my stove.
Dropping his voice lower, I heard him add, “I bet you’re glad you don’t have to eat her cooking much anymore.” The fire marshal was laughing to himself at his joke as he walked back to his truck across the lawn, unknowingly leaving me to face certain death alone.
Standing became difficult and I fell to the floor as I began to hyperventilate. How did he know about Ellie? How did he know she was coming home soon? Now my survival became unimportant, I only cared about Ellie. He must not be here when she came home. I would need to be dead by then and he would need to have moved on. I didn’t think it would be hard to accomplish, but I needed to make sure of it. How was I going to ensure my own death?
I tried to bring my breathing back under control, but I was terrified so I had little success. Without looking away from me, he shut the front door behind him and walked over to me. Kneeling down beside me, he sat for a few moments, simply looking at my face. Slowly, my breathing calmed and I knelt there looking back at him. “What are you?” My voice cracked and produced little sound.
“What do you think I am?” he questioned me. I sat looking at him dumbly. The only answers that came to my mind seemed ridiculous and I couldn’t make myself put them into words. “Twenty-first century thought tells you I cannot exist,” he noted, smiling at me sardonically.
“You can’t,” I mouthed back. Before I could finish the last word, I was staring at his fangs, glistening, and razor sharp, centimeters from my eyes. My brain didn’t even register his movement, it was so fast.
The fangs were just as impressive the second time I saw them and I felt my heart rate go up just by seeing them. His full lips were pulled back from them slightly, giving me the full view.
“I would not think you would doubt me so soon after you encountered these?” His voice was a whisper, deadly yet smooth.
Managing to pull my eyes away from his fangs and search out his gaze, I had to tip my head back to look up into his eyes. The movement exposed my throat and noticing this, he ran the back of his hand along the path of my left internal jugular. Chills ran down the entire length of my spine, but I forced myself not to move, thinking of Ellie.
He needed to kill me. The sooner the better. Surely then he would not wait around for six more days. A poor plan I knew, but I didn’t have a better one. “I won’t doubt you anymore,” I whispered back. Then I reached up and slapped him full in the face with as much strength as I could find.
He didn’t flinch despite me having used every last ounce of muscle. I didn’t even leave a hand-print on his face nor did he seem to be angry. His gaze remained level, no emotions were evident in his expression. Trying again, I doubled up my fist and hit him square in the jaw. The same. No emotion, no reaction at all except one whispered word.
“Ellie.” From his mouth, her name was like salt in a wound and I froze, my hand in midair.
“Leave her alone. She’s just a baby. Kill me, do whatever you want to me. I’ll cooperate. I’ll give you anything you want, but leave her alone. I’ve got money in the safe and a car. Just kill me and go. Please!” I was begging.
Grasping his shoulders with both hands, I pulled myself up so that my face was level with his as I continued to plead for my daughter’s life. Offers that I wouldn’t have ever thought I could have put into words rolled off my tongue until I could think of nothing else with which to bargain.
He said nothing, did nothing. He seemed to be waiting for something but I had no idea what. Finally, he smiled. His face was friendly, but his eyes were mocking.
“I’m immortal and a nomad. I have no need of money or cars. The only need I have is blood, which you and your daughter have and I plan to take. You have nothing to offer me in the place of her.”
His voice died away, but my mind clung to his mention of being a nomad. I was right about that part. He would be unlikely to stay here for a week if he killed me soon. My mother wouldn’t bring Ellie to the house if she couldn’t get in touch with me. I thanked God silently for her cautiousness now. It would probably be my saving grace. The only protection I could offer Ellie now was my mortality. I would have died a thousand times for her, but I could only do it once.
Letting go of his shoulders, I bent forward on my knees in a position of prayer and began to pray in earnest. I noticed in my periphery that he had sat down as well and was watching me with a trace of humor on his face.
“Yes, pray for your life. Pray for my immortal soul too if you can spare the words. Pray for your daughter. Pray that yours and her deaths be quick. Pray to me that I might grant you this kindness,” he intoned softly and mockingly. He bowed his head and closed his eyes. I continued to pray while my left hand snaked out to grab the edge of a nearby pine knickknack shelf, bringing it crashing to the c
ool wood floor. A crystal vase, my prime target, shattered into hundreds of sharp shards.
The majority of the shelf had landed on him and as he looked up, I noticed that there was no surprise on his face. He must have picked up on my movements. Quickly before he subdued me, I grabbed a shard of the fallen glass, but he only laughed thinking I considered it a weapon against him.
His expression went cold as I shoved the glass as hard as I could into my left brachial artery, buried deep in the bend of the elbow, and jerked it to the right with a slicing motion. Hot, bright red blood spurted out as my aim had been good. I stood up while I still could, not wanting to die at his feet.
He was on his feet now too, his eyes focused on the red flow dripping onto the floor, making a red lake at my feet. His fangs were extended, lips curled back, eyes hot. I had him; he couldn’t resist my death wish now.
I was losing blood quickly since I had severed a fairly large artery, I knew I didn’t have much time and I tried to take a few steps towards him before the blood loss took my vision.
In one second, he was there. Grabbing my left arm, he wrenched it up and placed his mouth over the pulsing artery.
Swallowing is a complex act, one that we all take for granted every day, and how strange that I should think about that in the last few moments of my life. Watching him drink for about half a minute, I began to sink down onto the floor and he followed me down. My last act as a mother was to look to the mantle and find my daughter’s face there; I focused on her image while he drank, until I felt nothing and the world went black.
three
Honey-colored hair hung down, cutting off my line of vision. I breathed in the sweet scent of apples emanating from the shoulder-length locks framing a heart-shaped face. Her forehead against the bridge of my nose, a small mouth planted a kiss on mine then pulled away so I could see her almond-brown eyes staring back at me. A giggle escaped her cupid mouth and little hands cupped my cheeks.
“Mommy, come make me some eggs.” Happiness spread through me at the sound of her voice. I started to get up and follow her as she bounced towards the kitchen, but the aching in my head cut through my dreams and brought me back to reality.
Lying on the living room rug, I found myself staring up at the dimmed lights. It was night outside and I could still see a piece of the moon through the window from where I was.
I reached up to touch my forehead and noticed I was covered with a thin sheen of sweat. Dizziness with even that small movement nearly overwhelmed me, followed by a wave of nausea. If I thought I had been sore before, I had absolutely no idea. I attempted to lick my lips, but couldn’t find enough moisture.
Listening to the tick of the grandfather clock, I lay where I was, unwilling to move. The clock chimed 1:00. That meant the night was only half-way over and I was still alive.
The chimes an hour later brought me back from the restless sleep state and I realized that I had lost another hour. Rolling over to my side, I managed to lift my upper body up onto my elbow. Winded, I lay there for another couple of minutes before making it to my knees and another couple of minutes until I managed to pull myself to my feet using the divan for support. Bile rose in my throat and I choked it back just in time. My knees buckled, but I ended up in a sitting position on the divan rather than back on the floor.
Sitting there, I began to search the room for my captor. He was not in my line of vision and straining my ears, I couldn’t locate a sound out of place. The hum of the refrigerator and the tick of the clock were all I could make out until the heating unit began its cycling.
Still trying without success to find the moisture to lick my lips, I knew I had to get off of the divan and try to make it to the kitchen and get something to drink. I needed fluid so I leaned as far forward as I could to gather momentum more easily, then pushed off with everything in me.
Somehow, I made it into the kitchen and to the refrigerator without going to my knees again. Pulling the refrigerator door open was like an Olympic feat and I had to stand there a moment holding on to the door to recoup for a minute before I went any further.
Looking through the disorganized shelves, the orange juice and peanut butter seemed the most likely choices because of their iron content. I made the mistake of grabbing them both at the same time, and they slipped out of my fingers and landed on the floor. Using the refrigerator as a brace, I slid down it to sit on the floor and picked up the orange juice. Tilting the container up, it was like the nectar of the gods on my lips and I drank several gulps before I cautioned myself not to drink it too fast. I slowed down and tried to sip it. I desperately needed the fluid volume, but knew it could come back up just as easily.
Needing some solid food to settle my stomach, I set the juice down beside me and reached for the peanut butter jar. Thankfully, I had not screwed the lid on too tightly or I wouldn’t have been able to open it. Scooping it out with my fingers, I ate it as quickly as I could, not bothering to waste the energy to get a spoon.
Hypoglycemia and dehydration were making me tremble, but after finishing off the carton of OJ, I started to feel better and best of all, still no sign of the vampire. He must have left me for dead and I smiled at the thought.
Vampire. Hearing the word echo in my mind made it seem all the more ludicrous, but I was at least five units of blood short by looking at my nail beds so I knew I wasn’t crazy. Tell that to the police, I thought to myself.
Laughing out loud with a slight hysteric tone at the thought of calling the police; the idea of notifying them suddenly took on a new urgency. I began to crawl towards my cell phone, which of course was on the other side of the kitchen. It was less risky than standing up and I was more likely to make it if I crawled.
Hesitation hit me half-way across the floor. What would I tell the police? That my house had been broken into while I was making spaghetti and I had been held captive by a vampire?
It crossed my mind to not call the police because what could they really do to help me? I quickly dropped that idea. I had bruises, I had the gash in my arm. My dog was dead. I certainly looked as though I had been attacked so I would leave the story there.
The police could take me to a hospital tonight and tomorrow I could start looking for a new place to live. He was probably long gone, but I wouldn’t take any chances. e wasHVampires couldn’t come out in the sunlight, right? At least I didn’t think so. All I needed to do was to survive the night. He would never find me again.
I resumed my slow crawl across the floor with a little more energy. I had about eight feet to go to make it to where my cell phone sat on the counter. The rough tile was wreaking havoc on my knees, but I labored on till I made it to the counter.
Reaching up with both hands, I pulled myself up on my knees, my right hand inches away from my cell phone. One more second and I would have had it in my hands.
Coming seemingly out of nowhere, he wrapped a hand in my hair and with a quick jerk of his wrist, he pulled my head around and threw me backwards. I landed about ten feet away, hard on my back. I felt his hand lace through my hair again as he dragged me from the kitchen and into the living room. With a sudden release of his hand that I wasn’t expecting, the floor came up to meet my head very hard.
Bright lights exploded in my vision and a hard wave of nausea hit me, but still I didn’t pass out. Searching vainly in my peripheral vision, I looked for him but didn’t see him. Intertwining my fingers in the carpeting, I managed to pull myself up to where I was resting on my forearms.
About four feet away directly in front of me, he sat stock still, staring at me intently. He held a pose that for most men would have been uncomfortable. His right leg was partially stretched out to his side, his left leg bent and supporting most of his weight on the ball of his left foot. He looked halfway crouched and halfway poised to leap, but he simply stayed there and so I simply rested as well, waiting for my head to quit spinning and for the lights to stop flashing behind my eyes.
My chest ached from the impact of
the tile, my head pulsed with a probable concussion, and every muscle in my body felt as though it had been torn away from the ligaments that were holding me together. I shook from fear and sheer physical exhaustion. My body surely couldn’t survive this much longer.
It is interesting the things that go through your mind during a crisis. During my nights as an emergency room physician, patients had often recounted small details that their brain had noticed during car accidents or other life-threatening events. Always fascinating to me, I would wonder if they remembered these minute details only after the fact when their mind had a chance to reenact the event, or did they really take such quick notice when the event was occurring.
Now I had answered my own question. Because even though I sat facing the physical manifestation of death, I was able to focus on his every feature.
Physically speaking, he was not terribly imposing except for that half-crouched position he was holding, and despite everything, I realized he was very attractive. Reasonably tall, he was probably just a hair over six feet. Dark brown wavy hair, with what looked light sun-streaked highlights, fell in long locks to the base of his neck. It swept back off of a smooth forehead, except for three or four locks that strayed down to partially cover his eyes. Intense green eyes, evenly spaced, with dark, thick arching eyebrows stared back at me. The whites were clear and the pupils exceedingly dark, which even though it sounds like a cliché really did remind me of the old well at my family farm back home.
Glistening and dark, his pupils mesmerized me, threatening to pull me over the edge and into him. Dilated and wider in diameter than human pupils, I couldn’t help but stop and stare at them. His skin was light and smooth and his red lips, full in the extreme, almost leapt off his face. The contrast between their color and his skin was sharp. On a woman, it would have been considered garish, but he carried it well. He was not slight but not heavy either and his arms underneath the thermal he was wearing were corded with lean muscles. The denim that encased his thighs also showed the notching of hard muscles.