Blood Worship (Chasing Vampires)

by Barbara L. Black

  “Nice watch,” she said in a slow voice. She felt foggy, as if she could go back to sleep standing up in the doorway. “Rolex, right? How can you afford that?”

  His eyes burned into hers, and Jessie trembled.

  “That’s a rude question, Jessie, but I forgive you. It’s late and you must be tired. I didn’t realize what time it was until just now. You can’t imagine how many hours a week I work; the time just got away from me. I have so much to do. If you invited me in, I could just ask you those few questions now. This won’t take long at all.”

  She was tempted to do just that. He seemed so nice, even though she’d made that crack about the Rolex. If it would only take a few minutes…her thoughts trailed off and she stared at him silently. He was so handsome…

  He leaned forward. “Please, Jessie,” he said in a soft, intimate voice. “I’m a very busy person and I have so much to do. This would help me out so much.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him yes.

  “Don’t do it, baby! No, he ain’t what he seems, you got to tell him no, right now! Say no!”

  Jessie staggered from the force of the voice in her head. “No,” she said softly, putting a hand to her head and wincing. “It’s too late, come back during the day.”

  She started to swing the door shut, but he put a hand out and held it. Jessie felt cold fear touch her as she met his glittering eyes. The rage was back, and this time it stayed on his face. She nearly choked at the force of it battering against her.

  “No!” she said more strongly. “Get away from here, right now. Let go of the door.”

  “I’ll be back later, then.” He smiled and dropped his hand, and Jessie didn’t think him handsome anymore. His eyes were too crazy, and his smile was more of a snarl.

  “I’ll see you soon, Jessie.”

  Jessie slammed the door shut, then stood with her back against it, trembling. She turned and locked it quickly, then fall back against it again, her heart pounding. She could have sworn that she heard a low chuckle right outside, but she was too afraid to put her eye to the peephole to see if he was still there.

  “I’m going crazy,” she said aloud in a shaky voice. “Crazy. I’m hearing my dead mother talking in my head now instead of just seeing her in dreams. He was just doing his job. He worked a long day, that was all. He didn’t know what time it was, and lots of people have nice watches. It doesn’t mean he wasn’t really a policeman. And…and so what if there wasn’t a car parked in front of the house! He probably took the bus…” Her voice trailed off, and the fog in her brain began to clear.

  “Wearing a Rolex. Three hours after the buses stop running. He wasn’t a cop,” she said strongly. It sounded crazy, but something inside her knew it was true. “He was…he was something else. Something dangerous, and he knows where I live.” Jessie shook all over. She grabbed the hair around her temples and pulled fiercely. “I won’t think about it now. I…I’ll talk to somebody about it tomorrow. Stop thinking about it!”

  She closed her eyes and focused on breathing, in and out, in and out, slowly, until she felt calmer. After her pulse returned to normal, she walked back up the stairs and climbed into bed, shivering. It took her hours to go back to sleep, and her dreams were peopled with beautiful men who turned into monsters with glowing red eyes.

  ***

  He was enraged as he stalked down the sidewalk. It should have been a rapid and certain revenge, but it hadn’t been. The girl had escaped. How had she resisted him? He had turned the full force of his powers on her, and she had been giving in. Something had come between them. Something had formed a wall between him and his prey and had forced him to leave.

  He would have his reprisal. He would take it slowly, and it would be delicious. He had to remember to pull back and take stock, perhaps come back with reinforcements, even though all his instincts had told him to attack her now, take her now, kill the threat now.

  He hadn’t expected what had happened, but he would find out about this presence and he would obliterate it. Then the girl would suffer more because he’d had to wait. He didn’t like waiting…

  He walked through the streets, anger whipping, and his belly filling with a crude appetite. His senses were heightened to their peak, and he could smell the blood of the creatures in their houses and their cars. His nostrils flared, and it was all he could do not to rip open the metal monstrosities and pull out the passengers. Only the thought that there were safer ways of sating his hunger kept him from killing everyone who came close to him.

  He found the prey he had sensed lying asleep in an alley. He clutched a liquor bottle tightly by his side, even in his sleep. Dian smiled as he looked down on the filthy man. He would be doing the world a favor by ridding it of such trash. He wouldn’t be missed, and that was what he needed right now. Someone who had no one to care whether he lived or died.

  He nudged the drunk awake with one immaculate shoe, being careful not to dirty it in the garbage that lay all around him. He smiled when the bum half opened his eyes.

  “Wa’ you want, man?” he asked belligerently. “I’m just tryin’ to sleep here. I ain’t hurtin; nobody.”

  “I’m not a man,” Dian said, and he was on him before the man could make another sound, severing his windpipe with his sharp fangs. Rich, warm blood flooded into his mouth and the man quivered and gurgled in his grasp. Dian held him securely until he stopped wriggling and sucked at every drop of the blood, lapped up every bit of the wine-tainted ambrosia. Sometimes when you had glutted many times on the finest of vintages, you hungered for a lesser wine, something a little more common. He threw the remains to one side when he was done, behind a garbage can, after biting the body in several more places. Perhaps that would lead the foolish police to believe that a pack of dogs had done it.

  In seconds, Dian Carman was out on the sidewalk and looking for his next victim.

  “Hey, there,” a shadow said. She came away from the wall and turned into the figure of a young woman. “Like a little company?”

  “Perhaps,” he said smoothly, his eyes coming up to meet hers. She gasped and drew back, and he smiled slowly at her fear. Her luscious, luscious fear.

  She was hardly his type, but what the hell, he was slumming tonight. His eyes flicked over her, considering. Her skimpy outfit served a dual purpose; it made for easy access for her customers, which was important since her office was the alley or the back of a car, and it showed off her wares. She was heavy of hip and breast, but her features weren’t bad and she was clean, which was more than could be said for the one he’d just left.

  “Hey,” she said nervously. “I think I changed my mind.” She cringed when he reached out a long finger and ran the nail slowly, slowly down the bare skin of her arm, drawing blood. “Why don’t you go down the street and find somebody else, mister?”

  “So warm,” he murmured as he licked her essence off his fingernail. “I think that you will do, my dear. You will do nicely.”

  He dragged her into the shadows of the alley, laughing the whole time, and the young prostitute never made a sound louder than a whimper.

  He touched her with his mind and forced her to his will, and it was so easy to do. She struggled briefly in the invisible bonds he placed on her, but he quickly overpowered her. He felt a moment’s regret at the ease of it; it was so much more fun it was difficult, if they had an intricate, perplexing structure to their minds. She slowly took a step toward him, and even more slowly reached out to touch him. Her hand slid over his face and inside his shirt to caress his chest. He held very still, only turning his head to nip at her palm, sucking briefly on the blood, throwing back his head at the ecstasy of it. It had been a long time since he had mixed sex with blood, and he had forgotten the thrill of it.

  She edged closer, and then found herself pulled into an embrace, kissed in a way that sent blood rushing hot to every extremity. Somewhere inside herself she knew and was horrified at what was happening, but she had no control. The hunger shu
ddered inside her with every throbbing beat of her heart. She kissed him back with desperation, feeling his fangs nick her but not caring, and her mouth filled with blood. He sucked it from her warm mouth frantically, sensuously. She existed only for this, only to please him, as he sucked the life from her body.

  He was everything that she had ever wanted, sleek and agile, his flesh searing her with its cold burn, her body sensitized beyond belief. She had been destined for this moment; it was the only reason she had even been born, merely to serve his body. She drifted on a wave of sensation so intense that she felt she couldn’t bear it, and she lost all thought except of him.

  In a brief moment of sanity, she realized that she was deep in carnal pleasure with something that was not quite human and she was moving desperately toward a fulfillment that was sure to mean her death. She tried to struggle, but he entangled both her body and her mind, and she couldn’t break his hold.

  Then all thought was gone. She burned and yet felt cold from the center of her being to the ends of her fingertips. She felt ablaze with cold fire from the inside out, thought that she would go up in flames at any second. He suckled ferociously at her smooth neck as he held her dying body, licking the last few drops of blood from his lips. He giggled as her head flopped grotesquely to one side. When he was sure that she was gone, he carefully lay her down on the ground. Who knew that the grubby little whore would be so hot? If he had known, he would have kept her to play with for a while.

  Of course, it was too late now.

  He laughed, feeling powerful and euphoric. He was glutted and glowing with the blood of the victims he had claimed, and he knelt to stroke the girl’s brown hair tenderly as she stared vacantly toward the sky.

  “I wonder what your name was?”

  He laughed again as he left her lying there in the alley. They all had names, he was sure, but who could keep track of them? He headed briskly for home, for he needed sleep.

  Chapter Five

  In the morning, everything felt different to Jessie. Her fears from the night before seemed silly; he was just an overworked civil servant, not a monster. He’d probably parked his car a block away or something, then walked up. She’d imagined the rage she had seen on his face. She did have a big imagination, after all.

  Still, she felt threatened enough that she needed to talk to someone, so she cornered Shannon after her first class and told her what had happened. She was stunned when Shannon paled and swayed. She leaned her head into Jessie, first looking around to see if anyone watched.

  “I’ve got to tell you something. Ditch your next class and come to the library so we can talk.”

  When they huddled at a table and Jessie heard what she had to say, she felt as if she were still in one of her dreams from the night before.

  “Listen, no matter what time this man comes, don’t let him in. He’s not a policeman, he’s something else. His name is Dian Carman.”

  “How do you know that?” Jessie asked.

  “I just …I just do,” Shannon said. “I found some stuff out. I know you’re not going to believe me and I swore I wouldn’t tell you, but I want you to hear this. Your Mom and Andy and Kira, they were all killed the same way, right?”

  “They were all mutilated, and they all tested positive for meth. You think the guy who came to the house last night had something to do with it? Is he a dealer?” She leaned forward and grabbed Shannon’s wrist, hard. “What did you find out, Shannon? I know that you were going to talk to some people, what did they say?”

  “No,” Shannon hissed. “It’s not because of drugs. And they weren’t mutilated. They were missing a lot of blood. They were slashed to increase the flow of blood from their bodies. They’re being used in blood rites.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jessie felt her stomach roil, and her voice rose. “You mean people are going around committing murders because they want to pretend they’re vampires?”

  “Shhh! Keep your voice down. Some of them aren’t pretending, Jessie. Some of them are for real.”

  Jessie stared at her for a long moment without saying anything. Shannon was the color of milk and her hands were shaking badly. She didn’t want to hurt Shannon or make her feel stupid. Obviously, she believed this, and Jessie just couldn’t think of anything to say. She cleared her throat and opted for the bald truth.

  “You’ve got to be kidding, Shannon. Are you saying that this guy, this Dian Carman, is a real vampire? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. It’s not that I don’t believe in some supernatural things, but I don’t believe in undead that drink blood. All the stress is getting to you, and they have you buying into their sick fantasy. Come on, the man wasn’t even wearing a cape.”

  “You’re not funny and I’m not kidding. I did some research on this guy, and guess what? He’s never had a phone. He’s never had an address, paid taxes, or held a job. He doesn’t have a social security card, he doesn’t own a car. He doesn’t exist.”

  “So he’s some wacko.” Jessie was uncomfortable with the light in Shannon’s eyes. “He’s just some weird psycho with a blood fetish. He changed his name and he found some other wackos to join him, and they started killing people because they are crazy, Shannon. He’s not a vampire.”

  Shannon grabbed Jessie’s arm with surprising strength and her eyes flashed with temper.

  “No! Listen to me. He’s got a funny, singsong way of talking, and I knew I’d heard it before.”

  “Yeah, I heard that, too.”

  “I thought and thought about it, and then I remembered. We had an Irish neighbor when I was little, and he talked just like that. I did another search, and this time I came up with something. There was an evil witch woman in Ireland a long time ago, and she had three sons. One of them was called Dian. They tried to bring Ireland to its knees, and they failed. The sons were forced to leave Ireland, and the witch died. Her sons didn’t though, or at least one of them. He’s here, and he’s killing people. It’s what he loves.”

  Jessie looked at her friend in horror. “You can’t be serious.” Jessie felt cold right down to her bones. “Shannon, you need to talk to somebody about this. You’re delusional. That’s just an Irish folktale.”

  Shannon shook her arm, and Jessie felt dizzy. The room began to spin. Horrified, she realized that she was hallucinating; she began to see beneath Shannon’s skin. She could see the veins and the arteries that snaked through the arm that touched her, and Jessie looked up slowly, until her eyes focused on Shannon’s chest. She could see the heart beating there, thump-thump, thump-thump, and she could se all the way inside, to the chambers of the heart. Jessie recoiled when she saw what lay there and when Shannon shook her again, furiously, Jessie closed her eyes. When she opened them, she was relieved to find that she could no longer see beneath her friend’s skin.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Shannon hissed. “You’re not taking this seriously, and you should. He’s not a joke, and he’s not crazy. He’s a vampire, a horrible monster. He’s a murderer who preys on his own kind, and he must be stopped. There’s someone else you need to know about, too. His name is Dan Jackson, and he works at a hotel down on the beach. It’s called the Beach Bum. He’s the one that invited Kira to that party, and Andy was really friendly with him right before he died.”

  Shannon leaned forward and hugged Jessie fiercely, not seeming to notice that Jessie was stiff in her arms and did her best to hold herself away from Shannon’s body.

  “I’ve got to go, but be careful, ok?”

  Jessie stared after Shannon as she walked away with her dark hair bouncing and her lush hips swaying. Everything seemed so normal, but Jessie felt caught in a nightmare she couldn’t wake from.

  Shannon had never been this …whatever she was, before. She’d always been one of the most even-tempered people Jessie had ever known. She was slow to anger, but when Jessie argued with her this time, she’d actually thought for a moment that Shannon was going to hit her. Jessie refused to b
elieve that the hallucination she’d had about the thing she saw inside Shannon’s heart had anything to do with the change in temperament. It had been a delusion, caused by stress and lack of sleep. It hadn’t been real.

  Because she couldn’t see through people’s skins, and there couldn’t be a worm living in Shannon’s heart – a worm as coal black as midnight.

  Jessie put her head on the table for a moment, closing her eyes. Deaths and mutilation and vampires and blood rites. Just a few months ago, the only thing on her mind was how to get to the beach party on Friday night. Now look at her.

  She picked up her head. While she was here, she might as well check out the books on vampires. She’d check out this witch and her sons while she was at it.

  Her first stop was the research desk; those people were good.

  “I need anything you have on the folklore about the Irish witch Carman and her three sons, and if you find any references to them and vampirism together, that would be perfect,” she mumbled, feeling silly. The librarian never raised a hair or an eyebrow, and some time later, she brought Jessie a pile of books and magazines. Jessie sat poring over the titles. She looked at the book on Carman first. It was standard myth stuff: Carman was a witch, she was bad, blah blah. The Irish Fairies killed her and drove her sons – Dob, Dother, and Dian – across the sea. Jessie sighed and moved on to the next book. So the crazy man had the same name as one of Carman’s sons. Big Deal.

  The librarian from the reference desk came over and cleared her throat to get Jessie’s attention. “I don’t know if this is relevant to your search or not, but I thought I’d bring it to you anyway. It was written by an investigative reporter in New Orleans.”

  She handed Jessie a magazine and pointed out the article. Jessie thanked her absently, already absorbed in the material. There had been a rash of deaths in a poor neighborhood in New Orleans in the early 90’s, and the police classified them as casualties of a drug war. A reporter named David Brasseaux became convinced that all the murders were connected to a cult. One passage in particular from the article made Jessie’s blood run cold.