4 comments/ 15619 views/ 5 favorites Nocturnus Eternal Ch. 01 By: bluefox07 CREATIVE CONSULTANTS: Simply_Cyn and Miriam Belle EDITOR: Miriam Belle AUTHOR'S NOTE: -"This is not a sequel... What you're about to read is the final version of a previous story entitled 'Beyond Nocturne.' For those of you that have read the original version, or the first draft as I like to refer to it, you'll notice some massive changes in the characters such as names, motives and relationships. The character of Lydia (from the original 'Beyond Nocturne') is now named Renee. The only reason for this change is that I felt the name Renee suited her character better. I wrote 'Beyond Nocturne' almost 3 years ago and a lot the ideas, names and plot points didn't feel right to me anymore, so I made changes for this final cut of the book. Even the title changed to reflect the newer, darker direction of the book. I also feel I've grown enough as a writer that this version would be a better offering for the reader. This story is longer and far more in depth. It is the story of one woman and her journey through life, and I would hope, a real scary read. If you've never read 'Beyond Nocturne,' don't worry. You can read 'Nocturnus Eternal' by itself and still get the same story only with more substance. If you'd like, check out 'Beyond Nocturne' when you're done here and compare notes. Please note this is a novel length story, and I have broken it down into moderately short chapters. I am still in the process of finishing this final version and plan to post a new chapter every month. Your feedback is welcome. Thanks!" --bluefox07 *** THE COLOR OF BLOOD 1 Bolts of lightning flashed over the city of Sacramento like hundreds of electric skeletal hands reaching out for their next victim. Sheets of rain fell and drenched the tall buildings, streets and people alike. In the deep, manmade crevasses of the city cars slowed down, windshield wipers began squeaking back and forth methodically and those few with the foresight to have an umbrella on hand popped them open and hurried along with everyone else to their homes and offices. It had been overcast all day long, and as midday passed the flat gray expanse above them grew prophetically dark and foreboding. The unbroken cover transformed into a mass of thick, heavy clouds that rolled and churned, building up to what would be a torrential climax. Renee Christian stood quietly in the downpour, relaxed in the outer eave of the Borders Bookstore on Fair Oaks Boulevard, her eyes alive and silent, her presence unnoticed. She liked reading the books the corporate giant sold, but more often she came here to see the people. They walked by her, each one of them consumed by their own thoughts and passions and unaware of her interest. It wasn't all that hard to figure out what was going on in their minds, but often knowing what they were thinking wasn't enough. She needed to feel the power behind those thoughts and the emotions that fueled them. Their motives were as varied and often as contradicting as the people themselves. Would the schoolteacher (who had just bought four large books on American History from the bargain rack to better reduce the impact of purchasing the latest issue of Playboy and Penthouse) decide to have pork or beef for dinner? Would the woman in the gray trench coat (who had just finished the amazing feat of slipping a small novel out of the store unnoticed and unpaid for) stepping into the cab actually cheat on her husband with her boss? A young girl waiting for her ride home not more than ten feet away was deeply considering suicide over a recent abortion. At the time, it had seemed like a good idea. All she could see at night now was the partially formed face of a baby she would never know, the small black pea eyes looking at her in wicked accusation. Conversely, the man behind her could only fix his eyes on her ass, lusting after her even as thoughts of his wife and children flashed before his eyes. Renee could feel them all as they passed by, their emotional states radiating off their bodies in an unseen electrical field. The hair on the back of her neck stiffened every time she came in contact with that field. It was a physical reaction to the intangible elements composing the human soul, elements that because of her very nature, she could somehow quantify into substance where other could only see chaos. The heat of anger burned on her skin, the coldness of despair and grief could chill her and the fires of passion affected her as if it were her very own. Renee turned away, feeling the pressure of all these people multiplying as she opened herself up to them, trying to understand them. She had once known what it meant to be one of them, but that understanding had been lost with her humanity a long time ago. It was now only a concept that came to her in dreams, and even then so fragile that even looking at it in would cause it to evaporate from her mind as if it had never existed. She hoped to find in these humans the answers to her questions. But thus far she had rarely seen anything but anger, hate and hypocrisy. With each man and woman that passed by, she found more and more reason to forsake that understanding of what it is to be human. Occasionally, she would touch upon a child, simple and innocent, too young to have been marked the world yet. She would relish those moments, because they were few and far between. When it did happen, it made her heart beat just a little faster. With that small change, she knew she was still alive. But that never lasted very long. There was always the thirst. The telepathy was the ying to the thirst's yang, the only light of hope in her life. She could still remember the period of autism she had endured shortly after turning. All the thoughts and feelings of those around her overwhelmed and fried her mind. It took a year to recover and adjust to her new life, but when she finally did she discovered she was one of the most gifted "seers" of the vampire nation. Renee mastered her abilities and came to love the ability to feel other people's thoughts, and as long she never opened herself up too much to all the voices, she could amuse herself for hours listening. Sometimes, when she actually found someone who wasn't demented, crazy, hateful, sadistic or lecherous, she could almost feel normal again. And even then, there were no answers for her. She stepped out into the storm and began strolling around the store. The rain splashed on her head and trickled down her porcelain face, the length of her neck and into the folds of her coat and shirt. A single drop made it past the neck of the white blouse shirt and rolled into the deep crevasse of her breasts. A shudder ran through her as the cool rain droplet warmed against her skin and then disappeared. She supposed that everyone, man and beast alike, was like a water droplet, falling, gaining speed from the infinite cradle of it's creation and then colliding with destiny. It didn't matter what happened after that because the same thing happens to every drop of rain that has ever fallen from the heavens. And when it has returned to the sky, it falls again starting the cycle anew. It was such a cliché. Profound perhaps, but a cliché nonetheless. Renee paused, knowing full well now that her time had come and with a small groan she felt the thirst inside of her stir. It clenched her stomach, making her both nauseous and aware at the same time. It was so seductive in it's reasoning, trying to hide the evil of its nature by promising such pleasure and satisfaction if she would only hunt. If she would only feed. Her hands curled into fists inside the warm pockets of her black overcoat, her mind considering the inevitable series of events that was about to unfold. She hated the part of herself that craved like this, possessed by an insatiable need to kill. It was the dark side of her nature, the downside to the vampiric virus she had been infected with. She passed a phone both, strangely luminescent with its neon lighting and bright blue billboard sign that read PACBELL. In the reflection of the glass, she saw the lights of the streets, buildings and cars distort into an abstract world, a world in which she was the center of all things. The reflection regarded her, a questioning expression on its face as she cocked her head and looked at herself. She saw her thick auburn hair was wet, hanging and dripping from her skull, her light blue eyes still eerily bright in this gray world of reflections. Her skin was milky and pure, eternally the age of twenty-five for the rest of her life and preserved like the glass of a porcelain doll. That was she felt most of the time, empty and hollow like a doll. Her lips were full and naturally red. Though they once had seen birth to a thousand different laughs, passing so often as to create slight lines around the corners, there was no smile to be found now. Her reflection leered a hateful smile back at her anyway. She thought of her first kill as she looked, feeling the remorse and self-loathing that went with the experience hand-in-hand as though it were happening all over again. The memory played like an old movie in her mind's eye for a brief eternal second. She hated reliving it, but every time the thirst reared its ugly head she couldn't help but be reminded. She remembered it was raining as hard that night as it was now. She remembered standing in the downpour, feeling so hungry and scared. And then there was a- - presence in her thoughts. Renee glances around as rain pelts her skin, her eyes scanning the crowd for the origin of this new feeling. The urges inside her have overcome her like monstrous waves in a typhoon to a small boat. Her resistance could only last so long before she had to leave the house. Her body is not her own as she stands in the rain, waiting. Her mind races with thoughts of death and the promise of fulfillment as her newfound instincts zero in on her first kill. She slowly turns and seeks him out in the ever-changing sea of people. She can see his face as being broad, strong and with kind eyes. She can almost taste the blood pumping through his veins, as though she had just bitten him. She hates the idea of drinking the blood. It repulses her even as the thirst cries out for it. She can already tastes the metallic sweet flavor as his footsteps grow loud in her mind, separate and distinct from those around him. He is so close. Her heart pounds as she searches the crowd. She walks further down the street and realizes he is within a foot or two of her. An electric sensation snaps and arcs through her body as gooseflesh rises across her skin. Short, shallow breaths escape her lungs as her mind reaches out for him and touches him. Renee licks her lips as her thirst becomes intoxicating. She knows she should not do this, that she should fight it and resist. But it tempts her with such promises of fulfillment that her tired mind begins to reason and negotiate. And she is so hungry. He is irresistible as she watches him walk by her, a bundle of books and papers under his arm. He looks out at the rain and shakes his head as he mutters something to himself and buttons up his dark pea coat. A matching knit cap is pulled down close to his skull and compliments his eyes. The man is tall, at least six foot and has dark features, eyebrows and a goatee to match the pitch black of his clothes. Like her, he clothes himself in dark garments to better blend in with the world around him. He does not wish to be seen. He stops under the outer eave of the Aladdin Theater and makes sure his books are dry and secure. Renee watches him, trying to subdue the rabid thirst building inside her in her stomach and flaring to her limbs. He has no malice in him, no anger. His is a simple heart that desires only the simple things in life. His blood is pure and untainted, a life force untouched by the essence of another woman or man. Renee cannot believe that a man like this, despite his beauty, is a virgin. The thirst is becoming unbearable as she walks over to him, observing her prey. She runs her tongue along the edges of her teeth in anticipation. She hates the hunger within her as she hates the relentless manner in which it has slowly broken her spirit of resistance. Ever since the bite, ever since she knew what she had become, she had fought the thirst off. Telling herself that she was losing the battle was only an exercise in redundancy. The battle had been lost the moment she stepped out the door of her home and began wandering. "Hello," Renee smiles warmly and stands beside him. He turns, a little startled at the sudden sound her voice, and then relaxes. He is even more handsome up close, his face clear of blemishes and young. His eyes are almost as black as the night itself, showing no signs of his irises. His neck is thick, and beneath his pale skin she can see traces of the blue veins carrying his blood. "Hi," he replies, smiling courteously. His gaze lingers for a moment, uncertain and suddenly suspicious. "Hell of a storm," she says. Did he know what she was? Could he sense the unrelenting thirst that consumed her? "Yes it is," he says amiably, clearly uncomfortable with sudden conversations with strangers. "You got a name?" Renee asks bluntly. The man eyes her for a second and then says, "Steve." "My name is Renee," she says as she pulls her umbrella out from under her long, black coat. "Care to share?" Steve looks at the umbrella and then at her hair. "It must not be a very good umbrella, you're soaked." "Sometimes I just like to play in the rain." Steve smiles, and she feels some of the fear go away. "Listen, I know we just met and all," Renee smiles as she searches his mind, "But could you give me a lift?" Steve shrugs, "I don't know. Where do you live?" Renee looks thoughtfully at him for a moment as she quickly scans his mind. She smiles at him coyly and buys herself a little more time, "Promise you won't stalk me?" Steve laughs, "I promise." Renee finds what she was looking for and says, "I live on T Street." "No shit?" Steve blinks, "I live on T Street too." Renee touches his arm, "I doubt that. I think I'd remember you." "No, seriously," Steve says, "1808 T Street, one of the bigger houses they chopped up into apartments." "No kidding?" Renee regards him skeptically, her blue eyes focused intently. Steve nods, and then after a moment he says, "Well, you're on my way home. Why not?" "Thanks," Renee rubs his arm again. Steve looks at her friendly gesture, certain now she is just flirting to get a ride home, and that is fine by his count. Renee pops the umbrella open and they walk together through the crowded streets. She lets herself slip slowly into his mind and begin soothing him, preparing him for the moment. She isn't even completely aware she is doing it. Rather, she is following the instincts given to her by her internal jailer. She finds herself too weak to say no. There is no resistance to her intrusion, if he even is aware of it. She begins to stimulate him with vivid images of sex. She slips images of herself naked into his mind, her soft skin backlit by some ethereal light causing it glow. In these fleeting visions, her full breasts are hanging freely in the almost tangible light, her nipples erect and begging for his touch. To her surprise, she is enjoying the imagery almost as much as he is. 'Don't do this,' a small voice calls from the back of her mind dismally, 'you know this is wrong. Don't do this...' "What do you do?" she asks as he unlocks the door to his dark green Studebaker. "Huh?" Steve stammers, almost dropping his coffee. He has been far too preoccupied with the sudden barrage of sexual thoughts and ambitions to be alert. "I asked what do you do?" "I'm an architect," he says and tries to not stare at her. Steve clears his throat as he flips through his key ring. "That's great," she says as the door unlocks and they get inside. 'This is wrong,' the voice reasons with her, 'He's an innocent.' She wonders for a moment how she would live with herself after she committed to doing this heinous deed. The thought of learning to live with the conscience of a murderer scares her to her deepest recesses. She also knows she is afraid to die. Renee knows it is a shitty deal all the way around, this business of murdering to stay alive. But she cannot fight off the inevitability of what the thirst was about to make her do any more than she can stop breathing air. "The traffic should pretty well be dead by now on 50," he struggles to establish some small talk with the gorgeous woman he had somehow stumbled across. "I imagine it would be by now, Steve," Renee gazes at him as her heart breaks. Her stomach clenches violently and she almost doubles over as the thirst demands her attention like a spoiled child. Renee can feel she is running out of time as the moral battle of her heart versus her bane raged inside. Her mind screams to stop, begs her not to commit to this act, but she is falling to temptation. When the sun set tomorrow night, when she wakes from her sleep, she knows that she will regret her impulsive and selfish decisions tonight. With a simple thought that she can hardly believe she is thinking, she causes the essence of his sexuality to flood through his body, enriching his blood. If she wanted to, she could cause him to orgasm right there. She knows it would only take the right amount of stimulation. The mind is a powerful device, so loose in the translation of what is real and what is not. Steve trusts his own thoughts like everyone else, but he could not know that he was beginning to trust Renee in the same way. "You look so familiar to me," he clears his throat, a blush rising to his cheeks. Renee begins creating memories of them together, as though she has been his lover for years. She twists his past to include her, to include the passion that she so desperately wants for herself but can never have now. And as she instinctively manipulates the fabric of his being, she finds that she can barely hear that small voice of protest anymore. It is an echo now, lost in the rage of her vampiric thirst. She was becoming a monster, the final stage of her initiation into the ranks of the damned only minutes away. "Well, I should Steve," she says innocently and then tests the suggested memories in his head, "We've only been dating for six years." He looks confused for a moment, and Renee thinks maybe she has underestimated him. She can feel him thinking about what she had just said, part of him knowing it wasn't true and yet unable to deny the new memories she has implanted into him. As they drive down the street, she can see him processing the information and digesting it, coming to terms with it and finally accepting it. They merge onto the waterlogged highway. As Steve had said earlier, traffic is pretty much dead in comparison to what it had been during the rush hour to get home. Renee wonders if she has been too bold in her control of his mind, if she might have overplayed her hand by being impatient. Finally, he looks over at her and smiles sheepishly. "What a stupid question." "No kidding," Renee breathes as Steve drives them both to the inevitable. A few minutes later, they are off the freeway and back into the city again. Renee watches him out of the corner of her eye. Steve is nervous, of that she is sure. His bottom lip works habitually against his upper teeth as he drives and takes in the subtle suggestions she is feeding him. The car turns and they roll down T Street for few minutes. Instead of asking where she lives, Steve pulls to the curb in front of his apartment. The house is large, probably a very expensive one in its heyday, but now is aged and seems like a pale ghost of its former self in the shadows. Fat drops of water form and plummet from the leaves and branches of the large oak trees that line the sidewalks and walkways. The thick foliage obscures the structure fairly well from the street and casts shadows across the pallid walls as the street lamps buzz and hum with their warm sodium light. Nocturnus Eternal Ch. 01 They get out of the car and Steve locks the doors. The illumination from the street lamps is reflecting off the deep puddles of rainwater as the gutters start to overflow from the torrential downpour. Renee sees her distorted reflection in the water briefly and then looks away. She cannot not bear to see the monster within herself. Water spatters on the tight vinyl fabric of the umbrella as she and Steve hurry up the walkway to his front door. Renee stretches her hand out to Michaels and takes hold gently as he rambles on about his day. She knows that she has no right to be listening to him, no right to be sharing in his life as though she were a welcome part of it. What she is doing is no better than what the vampiric virus inside is doing to her, and there is a part of her heart that knows that. Renee wants to listen to that part of her, and she fights hard to resist. Perhaps this is why the thirst gagged and bound her conscience, shoving it away with reckless hate and need. The thirst needs no morals to feed and made sure that Renee was sufficiently dulled to it's bidding, at least until the deed was done and it was satisfied. 'I'm weak,' she smiles at Steve as they reach the door to his home. Her mouth is dry and feels like someone has stuffed cotton in her cheeks. She thinks, 'I'm sorry Steve.' Renee opens her coat as they stand under the eave of the front porch to reveal her simple blue dress. It's in keeping with the fashion of the time, at least as much as Renee can afford. But the plain dress does accent her figure and hint at the promise of her large bosom beneath. Her shoes are soaked and the calf high socks are now almost transparent. Still, she feels no cold. Renee stretches out with her mind, and holds her grip on him. Her prey looks to her with hungry eyes and smiles lovingly as he pulls his keys out of his jacket. Steve fumbles with the keys for a moment, his hands trembling until finally he finds the right key and unlocks the door. He steps inside and turns when Renee stands where she is on the front porch. "You coming in?" he asks, believing now that she is in fact his beloved girlfriend of six years so whole-heartedly that she can feel a pang of rejection from him when she won't come in. She fights it. "I-," she says and then stops, hating herself more and more with each passing second. She then says weakly, "I just missed you, is all." "Please come in," he says immediately and holds his hand out to her. Renee smiles warmly and takes his hand as she walks in. Steve closes the door and they are in the dark, the only light in the hall a hot orange glow from the neon sign across the street flooding in the series of windows that framed the left side of the door. The rain is driving hard now in a sudden wind as it spatters against the windowpanes. She doesn't look at his furnishings or décor. The less she knows about him, the easier this would be. She stops him in the small hallway that leads to the living room. Renee places her hands on both sides of his face, her fingers spread out as her palms graze the prickly stubble on his cheeks. His blood is racing through his body, fueled by an unnatural attraction to her that she has forced on him. His breath is hot against her lips as she draws his face near to her own, her hands steady against his skin but unable to stop the impulses surging through her body. Renee kisses him gently on the lips, her tongue snaking out from between her lips and grazing his. She deliberately takes her time as he rests his hands on her hips. 'It's wrong,' she thinks weakly as her body suddenly heats up, a blush rising from deep inside her shattered heart. The feeling is so alien, so inherently mysterious that she almost draws back from him. She is not ready to feel the emotions that this man is stirring up in her. She remembers how this moment was supposed to be a secret, a special joining for her and one other. She has dreamed and imagined since she was old enough to know what the act is supposed to entail that it was sacred and unique, and she is quite sure murder and deceit are not a part of the magic. This was not how she wanted to share herself, to reveal her virginity. It wasn't right. The predators had come in the night and done this to her. She hates them almost as much as she hates herself right now. 'But who is the predator now?' She thinks. Renee fights off that thought as she stubbornly allows herself to experience the feelings of the first time. Again, she is convicted by her morality and she recoils from the sting of guilt over her actions. But the thirst knows no master, not for her or anyone else like her. She takes off his hat and removes his jacket. She can feel his sculpted body under the dress shirt he wears, and the stony bulge in his slacks against her thigh. Steve responds quickly as he begins undoing her dress, finally able to act out on the images that have been storming his mind for the last half hour. His need for her is ravenous as they kiss, tearing each other's clothes in a primal lust. Renee feels herself enjoying him and the sexual sensations sparking throughout her body. She feels like she is falling from the sky. She feels the thirst beginning to overtake her. 'Not yet,' she thinks, 'not yet...' Renee lets her dress fall away and down her arms. She looks at Steve and reaches behind her back, her fingers seeking out the clasps of her lacy white bra. She deftly unclasps the hooks and slides the cups away. Her heart is hammering in her chest relentlessly as she reveals herself to this stranger. 'You don't have to do this,' she reasons as a shiver electrifies her flesh, 'you don't have to do all this. Just feed and go. Don't violate him like this. Please.' Renee drops the garment to the floor and watches as Steve looks her over, drinking in the curves of her heavy breasts. She is surprised to hear a genuine moan escape from her throat as he places his large, rough hands on her swells and fondles her. She closes her eyes and concentrates on breathing as she tries to reason, to put some sort of logic to why she is doing this beyond simple thirst. But all she can do is tentatively explore the feelings this man has awakened in her. Her inner sex was alive, her womanhood slowly waking up and heating her from within. 'You could leave right now,' she thought, 'you could leave him right now and go find a murderer or rapist to kill...' 'But I need to know,' she replied to that small voice that had somehow escaped the bondage of the thirst, 'I want him so badly...' 'This isn't love,' the voice told her, 'This is a lie.' Renee looks into his eyes as he massages her breasts. He gently kneads them with a tenderness she never knew existed until now. He seems so sincere as he touches her, and that sincerity both intensifies her need for him and her guilt over her actions. Renee can hardly breathe as the battle for Steve's life rages on inside her heart. It is a losing battle to be sure, and she knows this even before she gives in and releases her body to the thirst. Steve kneels down and begins kissing her left breast delicately, working his tongue over and around her sensitive nub in small circles. Renee tilts her head back, completely lost in his touch and a powerless slave against her nature. Before her mind clouds over with the blind physical attraction she is feeling, she feels the need to cry, to lash out and mourn this man. She knows that when this was done, he will be dead. She will be truly guilty of murder and that would be the simple truth. 'Murderer.' She pulls him up and begins to undo his slacks. When the belt won't give, she sighs and instinctually flexes the powerful muscles in the fingers of her right hand. Moments later, five one-inch long claws spring out of small openings in each of her fingertips. With one deft move, she slices the leather of the belt. The claws retract immediately as the fabric and leather rip apart under her otherworldly strength. Amazingly, he doesn't even get scratched in the process and never sees her nails retract. He wears no underwear, and the sight of his manhood makes her flush red. "Hey, those were good pants," he protests as Renee tears his shirt off, exposing his body. She feels the lust inside her becoming as prominent as the craving for his blood. Renee kicks her white shoes off and lets her dress fall to the floor as they embrace as lovers. Their skin is a conductor, a perfect channel in which their sexual energy can surge through their bodies. They back up through the living room, never breaking the kiss and somehow managing to make it to his bedroom. She throws him to the bed and feels dizzy from all the wild sensations that are overwhelming her. Time seems to slow down, her legs straddling him. He is hard and powerful against her sex and she closes her eyes and feels the promise of the coupling. Her heavy breathing echoes through her mind like a voice in an amphitheater as the distinctive feeling of having been penetrated tickles her. There is a moment of definitive pain that is both excruciating and yet somehow beautiful. Thus follows the hot presence of Steve within her, not just physically but emotionally now, the both of them truly connected and sealed as they express their feelings. 'It's a lie,' an echo fades away just beyond her hearing. She can feel the thick presence of his penis inside her, filling her up, stretching her and creating such a pressure that she cries out. 'Murderer.' Renee can feel Steve's heart racing as they find their rhythm and make love, her hands braced against his chest. It is beating so hard, so furiously as they joined that he enhanced hearing can hear it pounding like a pagan drum. She senses his feelings for her, and now realizes that these were feelings he too had long been denied. He is a lonely man, forever apart from other people and yet desperately wanting to be with someone. He wants to be loved as badly Renee wants to be, maybe even more so. She wants to believe that what he is feeling for her is real, that she has somehow earned it and it is as pure as he believes it is. But she knows better. She knows that no matter what happens, his love for her has been planned and artificially cultured. It is an elaborate hoax to hide the fact that she wanted to take something from him that did not belong to her. But oh, how she wants to believe. 'Oh, how I am a murderer...' She feels the stab of self-loathing as she throws her head back and shakes under the pressure boiling up inside her. She feels a sudden bloom of intense heat from deep within her inner sex, an undeniable flowering of a virginal seed. Her lips tremble as she soars to the plateau of her climax. A wave of sadness threatens to crest the physical fire of her fruition and rises up against her. She runs her hands over her body, slick with a fine mist of sweat and struggles to find some way to keep from shaking. She slides her hands up to her neck, feeling the twin puncture wounds just below her right ear Through the chaos of the storm in her soul and as she reached her point of no return, Steve speaks three simple words that cut through her heart like a hot blade, changing her life forever. He whispers, "I love you." Renee pauses for a moment and comes to terms with that fact that she has just destroyed him. She has violated him not only physically and mentally but now emotionally as well. The power she feels inside him is love, and it is a gift he has been saving for someone else. It is a simple, priceless treasure that she has exploited and plundered. She has taken his most precious possession from him and now, as she stands poised to take his life along with it, she feels pure unbridled hate for what she has become. A tear rolls down her cheek. I love you... She throws her head back as the orgasm sears through her body. I love you... Renee screams in a torturous rapture. I love you, he echoes in her mind as her body is ravaged under the heat of her culmination. Her fangs unsheathe, growing longer and she can hold back no more. "I'm so sorry," she weeps. "For what?" he breathes, smiling at her. "For this," she whispers. A long moment of silence passes between them and then buries her fangs into Steve's neck as deep as they can go. She ravenously feeds on him, swept away in a bloodlust that seems to go on forever. His blood explodes from the wounds and pumps out in a long stream from under the seal of her lips to his skin. She drinks deep, his connection to her ebbing and losing power as he struggles against her. He convulses and tries to hit her as she steals his life. She can sense his mind spinning as he screams in pain and ecstasy. Ecstasy turns to fear as the toxin secreted from her fangs paralyzes him. Steve screams. Renee is an animal now, her humanity shredded and reduced to nothing more than a memory as the thirst commands her and takes control of her every action. After a few futile jerks and spasms he slowly begins to be still. Gurgling, shallow breaths bubble from his mouth as blood trickles from the corner of his mouth, leaving a snail-trail to his ear. His beautiful black eyes roll back wetly into his head as she drains him, his skin turning a pale white as his life slowly leaves his body. I love you, he had said to her. 'MURDERER!" Of all the things Renee had imagined saying in response to that very rare phrase since she had been old enough to know what love is, "I'm so sorry" is the very last reply she wanted to give. Nevertheless, it is the honest truth. She is so very sorry for what she has done. 'I am sorry,' she thinks as cold tears run down her face and mix with his blood, 'I'm weak and sorry.' She continues for an hour, sucking and feeding, appeasing the darkness within as she clasps his dying body to her own. She will not let him become what she is; she can at least give him that. She will kill him and spare him a lifetime of loneliness and hate. She will make certain that the virus that has damned her to eternal Hell on Earth cannot establish itself in this man's body. No matter what, he will not suffer her evil anymore than he already has. A strangled gurgling sound drifts from his open throat as his eyes fix on the ceiling. Renee feels the essence of his soul pass out of him like a warm breeze and into the next life, a place she is cursed to never see. She envies him. One last rattling breath hails his departure from this world, and he is no more. Renee stands up, naked and streaked with blood. Her eyes glow blue, reflecting in the window of his bedroom. She looks down at his body and the horrible wound she has made, so bright and raw against the white skin of his corpse. Tears flow heavily down her face as she comes back to her senses. Renee clasps a hand to her face, covering her mouth as she tries to control the sobs that heave her chest. Her eyes burn with hot tears and her stomach feels sick despite the content fullness of her thirst. She knows the police will be here soon. She suspects that his neighbors probably heard him scream when she bit him. Even if they didn't, hanging around the scene of a murder is never a good idea. She walks around the bed and mourns this beautiful stranger. She places her hand gently on his chest over the area under which his heart was now silent, still and cold. She leans in and puts her lips to his in a kiss that she knows she has no right giving him. The kiss lasts only for a moment and then she closes his eyes with a delicate sweep of her fingers. She steps back and can't bear to look at him anymore. She covers him with one of his blue satin sheets and leaves him there. She has committed murder. She showers in his bathroom, her skin caressed and soothed by the stream of hot water. The blood washes from her body as she cleans the physical evidence of her sin away. The steady jet of hot water pounds her skin and envelopes her in a plume of steam, hiding her as she comes to terms with her impulsive, murderous act. The crimson-tainted water circles around the drain, disappearing into the blackness and out of sight but not from memory. It swirls the open hole in a hideous vortex that cries out her guilt. "I love you," whispers Steve's phantom voice. Renee steps out of the shower and dries herself off with one of Steve's towels. She bothers with no adjustments to her hair or cosmetic fixings on her face. She doesn't need them, and if she had she wouldn't have used them. She gathers her clothes from the hallway and dresses quietly, the hardwood floor icy against her feet. Her shoes are in a pile near the foot of the plush recliner in the living room. As she puts them on, she feels a frigid emptiness in the apartment now, a black void where there had once been life. Renee slips her black overcoat on and leaves the apartment, taking great care not to look back at the man she has just murdered. Once back out on the street she finds the rain has stopped, a lonely fog is misting and coalescing around the city. It is viscous and thick, seeming to have a sinister life all it's own as it catches the light from the orange sodium street lamps. An eerie silence has fallen over the city, and she feels like everyone is pausing to consider what she has just down. It is a ridiculous notion, but she feels like a million eyes are watching her. She flips her lapels up, shivers and walks into the mist. The sounds of wailing sirens overpower her footfalls and fill the night as she briskly walks back towards downtown. At the corner of the street, several brightly lit squad cars and an ambulance swerve and race towards her. She looks on, unconcerned and still fearful of the police as they speed by and past her. Someone had heard Steve scream apparently. The police were hoping to save a life and nab a bad guy. They would bring forensic experts and investigators and they would scour the apartment for clues but would find nothing. They would never find fingerprints or DNA samples, as she now has none to give. She is a vampire, a creature outside of humanity and therefore no longer subject to what makes a woman human. She is a woman with no identity, no unique attributes or special distinctions. Inside her, she senses the darkness abated and slumbering, giving her peace for the moment. She sighs, if nothing else thankful for the short reprieve from her bane that might last another two days before it awakened again. The idea of having to feed again terrified her. What would her parents have thought? What would they think of their sweet, Christian girl now? "A good Christian girl?" she whispers to the shadows enclosing around her. 'No,' Renee thinks as she stands in the rain, 'Not even close.' Renee suddenly looks up as- -three men walk by her, their eyes glancing at her in a way that probably was very slick to them, but to Renee it is obvious and bold. The hunger stirs within her and she knows it is time. Burying the memories of her first kill down deep, she steps out from the phone booth and her evil reflection and walks into the night. She knows that they will follow her. She can already sense them making the decision. After all, she is a murderer, and she can sense her own. 2 Quentin Handle led his boys quietly and confidently. He knew that the two men following behind him were as trustworthy as people in their profession could be. He trusts them enough to share credit with them, but not enough to let his guard down. Nobody is on the level enough to let your guard down around. That was just plain stupid. Many people considered Quentin to be many things but stupid was not one of them. Trusting people that were so much like him was a mistake that he had seen too many thieves make. The three men emerged from the shadows of the tightly spaced buildings that crowded downtown Sacramento. It was always safer in the shadows, and a good thief could tell you that if your target sees you even a moment before the hit, then you've failed. It wasn't that the payday would be any less, but rather the finesse of the job would be lost. It was an issue of doing a job right versus doing it half assed. The job was a matter of pride for Quentin, and as such he took it very seriously. Nocturnus Eternal Ch. 01 He regarded the neon advertisement lights mounted above the doors and in the windows of the various bars and second-class stores to be an enemy. Anything that could give away his intention before he was ready was a threat. Light was the enemy of shadows, which is why he and the others did their business in the night. It was safe in the night, a whole hell of a lot safer than trying to pull a simple grab, snatch and bang during the lunch hour. Quentin understood the delicate psychology of fear and the simple mechanics behind it like most people understood the basics of breathing. When it got dark, people would hurry to get home faster. The shadows would prompt the average guy or girl to feel a little more nervous walking alone on a street they knew well in the day, but did recognize at night. Mistakes were made easily when your eyes began playing tricks on you as shadows moved and shapes formed in the dark. Fear birthed carelessness, and carelessness would usually deliver some poor sap into the shadows of the city. Quentin knew where to find the shadows. His companions weren't as deft in their craft. He had accepted that about them early on and while he might have regretted working with them sometimes, he knew that it was he who allowed them to tag along. He was in charge and they worked for him. Both of them were slow and careless. Quentin figured it was blind luck that had kept the two out of jail thus far. Everyone had his or her usefulness though. His boys were both pretty strong and if he needed a patsy, he knew that they would do nicely in a pinch. Bobby, the shortest of the three was a whiz kid with all things that locked and hinged. He was like an encyclopedia of the various methods employed in breaking and entering. His stout appearance and lazy eye disguised his intelligence, but only to a certain point. While he could decipher the code for an alarm system in less than five seconds, he still couldn't take a shit and wipe without leaving his shorts burnt with enough rubber to make even the most seasoned truck driver cringe. Quentin thought it was the low-end equivalent of a nuclear physicist habitually forgetting to tie his shoes or zip up his pants. James was their map. He'd grown up on the streets of the city and knew every single inch of it by heart. Very often his knowledge of the area could be more readily relied on than the official maps drawn up by state. Like Bobby though, his talent didn't quiet compensate for his lack of common sense. James was notorious for leaving things behind at robberies such as fingerprints and occasionally being caught on camera. But that's where Quentin came in. He was the glue that held them together during their night operations. It was his careful planning and attention to details that kept them alive and out of the prisons. The pairing of James and Bobby was a stroke of genius as far as he was concerned. Whatever shortcomings the two had, Quentin mopped up after and more than compensated for. It was a perfect check and balance system. They had been working this part of town for over three years, and never once been caught. Steam curled and snaked around their muddy boots as they followed their prey, each of them smiling inwardly and perfectly aware of the acts they were about to commit. The police and other such guardians of the law refer to this state of mind as premeditation. To them, it was simply their way of life. They thought about their next crime the way most people thought about their next paycheck. To Quentin, it was his purpose in life. It was the only thing he was ever really good at. He always thought it was a shame his talents lay so far south of the law. He knew he would have made a good cop. "Good cops aren't all that different from crooks," his father had once told him, shortly before being shot to death in a fouled robbery attempt in Rio Linda, "They think the same, they just go about their business differently." These three men are the faces that people see in the badly rendered mug shots on the bulletin boards in the Post Office and at the local Supermarkets. They are the men who break the rules and take whatever they want whenever they want. They dress in flannel coats and keep dark knit caps low to their brows, pulled tight to their skulls. They're the men who blend in to the world, like some kind of species of human chameleon. There's nothing special about the way they look or walk. In fact, it is there unremarkable stature that gives them such perfect anonymity. It was this camouflage that allowed them to follow the lone woman all the way from the bookstore on Fair Oaks Boulevard to the downtown stretch. It was a long walk, but something told Quentin she was going to be a special catch. The woman turned down an alley between two large apartment buildings that towered up eight stories into the stormy sky. Quentin couldn't believe she was walking into the alley. Trash and leftovers from the last decade cluttered the narrow passage as she made her way through. A single halogen light, mounted to the side of the building six floors up, provided just enough illumination to reveal the fire escapes. They cast long, ribbed shadows down the building walls where they disappeared in the darkness. Water dripped from the steel constructs and pitter-pattered on the trashcan lids below like weak machine gun fire. "We're in luck," James whispered to Quentin, "This alley is a dead end." Quentin raised a finger to his lips to silence him. "Deathtrap..." James trailed off. The woman cocked her head and stopped in the middle of the rank alley as her dark, long coat caught a draft of wind. Quentin suspected she sensed them, but as James had so adequately put it, it was a deathtrap. Even if she ran she would have to get past them. He and his companions pressed on into the darkness after her, their heavy boots loud and obvious against the pavement. He could see that she had red hair as the distance closed between them. His eagerness to grab her and take everything was as potent as the stench of the trash crunching under their feet. The three men followed, now feeling sure that the shadows were dark enough in the alley to hide their act. The woman started walking faster. The men started running. Her red hair bounced in the rain as she picked up speed. Water splashed up from puddles as they thundered down the alley after her. Garbage cans fell over and spilled refuse out into the muddy floor of the dead-end gap. The woman ran, her eyes wildly looking over her shoulder as three silhouettes bore down on her. Her foot caught on a length of broken, rusty pipe and she tumbled to the ground. She hit hard, her hand scraping along the slick pavement. She scrambled to get up as a heavy hand fell on her back. "Hey sweetie," Quentin laughed and grabbed her by the back of her coat, hauling her up to her feet. He shoved her into Bobby's open arms and guffawed with laughter, "You take a wrong turn?" "She took a wrong turn, yes sir!" Bobby agreed giddily, his eyes bulging with anticipation, "We gots to ed-ju-CATE her!" A small card fell from her long, black coat to the ground. Bobby knelt down and picked it up. After spending a moment to read it thoroughly, he grinned. "What?" James asked. "She works at the museum," he laughed as though he had just heard the best joke ever, "She's smart enough to have a job there, but too stupid to stay out of a dead end alley!" "Education is important," Quentin smiled, revealing his yellowed teeth. Quentin looked her over, appraising her. Her outfit didn't look like anything he had ever seen an egg head wear. Her coat looked to be made of some kind of leather, black like the color of India Ink and adorned with subtle fluid designs. Her boots are thick and matched perfectly to the coat, three elegant brass buckles along the shins keeping the straps secure. As the wind began to blow, her coat opened and he saw her pants were equally as black, while her shirt was as white as snow. "Nice outfit," Quentin remarked as James looked at her greedily. "I'll bet that coat was expensive," James said casually "She's a smart dresser," Quentin nodded and leaned in close to her. His breath was rancid smelling, as though his mouth hadn't seen any hygienic care in years. Lightning flashed overhead and lit the alley as crazy shadows dancing along the walls. The three attackers recoiled like cockroaches under a flashlight. Quentin grasped her with dirty, greasy hands and yanked her coat open. He leered at her and placed his hand over her left breast, feeling her through her white blouse. His breathing was oddly calm and slow despite the running and the thrill of the impending robbery and kill. "What do you think?" he grinned at her, "Want me to teach you a lesson?" The woman closed her eyes tight and said nothing as lightning flashed and revealed her smooth, dulcet features to him. She was very beautiful, and there was no doubt in Quentin's mind as to who would have her first. The woman was silent as the rain poured down harder. "That's a 'yes' if I ever heard one!" James yelled and whooped loudly. "Shut the hell up," Quentin said and glared at his associate, "Could you be any louder, you dumb shit?" James stepped back apologetically, his flat blue eyes still giddy as his fleshy lips curled into a sick smile. "What's your name?" Quentin asked and squeezed her breast again. The red-haired woman only looked down at her black pants and boots. "What is your name?" The steady drumming of heavy raindrops answered him. "Maybe she's deaf and dumb?" James snickered. "I'm talking to you!" Quentin shouted in her face, ignoring his cohort. Bobby laughed, thoroughly amused. He eyed the wet handprint on the woman's white blouse. Before this was done, he hoped to make a few prints of his own. And not just on her tits. "Speak up you bitch!" Quentin screamed and shook her violently, his face a mask of pure rage. He wasn't a man given to outbursts, but this one was pushing his buttons. She was making him look bad in front of his men, undermining his image. Part of the glory of the job was the reputation you earned by not only being smartest but also the meanest asshole on the block. It was as simple as that. When he said jump, he expected to people forgo asking "How high, sir?" and just do it. He wanted to see her fear. He wanted to feel the power and authority. She was supposed to cower and beg for her life, beg him not rape her and hurt her. Yet, for all his violent shaking and throttling of her she would not give in to him. This bitch woman would not give him what he wanted. So he would have to take it. Quentin grabbed her by the neck and jerked her as hard as he could, his thick fingers digging into the soft flesh under her jaw line. Her hair flipped and water sprayed from her locks as her head violently lashed back and forth like a rag doll. James and Bobby slowly stopped laughing as they noticed the snarl on Quentin's face. They stepped back and gave their boss some room to work knowing he was now officially in a rage. It wasn't often that Quentin lost his cool, and they knew enough not to get in his way when he did. Very few people ever angered him to this point, and it usually took a lot more than just some dumb chick saying nothing at all. He ranted and growled at her and choked her and still she would not say anything. "Maybe she's a retard, Q?" James suggested as rain pelted them all from above. Quentin loosened his grip and released her neck. The woman staggered back. Threatening her wasn't getting the job done and certainly yelling wasn't either. He sighed and shook his head, looking at her for a long moment. She remained still, looking down at the ground. Quentin collected his cool and drew his hand back. He waited for a reaction and frowned. The crazy bitch only looked at her boots. He slapped her as hard as he could, the impact echoing though the alley. He screamed at her, "You best answer me, you slut!" He slapped her again. Nothing. "You're too stupid to know how much trouble you're in?" Quentin's hand met her face yet again... "Answer me!" And again... And again... He shook his hand out as it began to tingle from the pain. With an angry yell of frustration, he shoved her against the brick wall. He positioned himself in front of her and drew his fist back. His whole body turned, all his strength being loaded into this single punch that he was certain would assert his dominance over her. Breaking her nose into a hundred pieces would get her attention, by God. He sneered and took a deep breath. His body was tensed and ready to strike as he leaned in and asked her, "You don't learn too quick, do ya?" She said nothing. Drops of water fell from her wet hair and splashed to the ground in the silence that preceded the impending strike. "You bitch," he threw the punch, growling like a wild animal. His fist met her flesh, but instead of smashing her nose up into her skull he found that he had connected with her outstretched palm. In her delicate hand she held his giant balled up fist like a little girl holding a basketball. Quentin tried to jerk his hand back, but her grip was like an iron vice. "What the fuck?" he whispered, teeth gritted in surprise and true frustration. The rain suddenly stopped. She slowly tilted her pale beautiful face up at him, impassive and unconcerned as lightning seared overhead. The world seemed to fall eerily silent as she brushed a waterlogged tangle of her red hair away from her pale face. Her eyes remained closed, not quenched tight but rather gently shut as though she had no fear of him and was completely relaxed. Quentin suddenly felt uneasy as he realized her cheeks weren't even red from his volley of slaps. He had been hitting her hard too. Hard enough to leave a black eye at least, or even a bruise on her cheek bone. Her fingers held his hand in an impossible grip, unforgiving and unmovable. Bobby and James only stood there, awestruck and their mouths gaped open. And then she spoke. "I am a slow learner," the red headed woman said quietly Quentin opened his mouth to rage at her, but stopped. He gasped as her fingers closed over his knuckles. Tears burst from his eyes and the bones in his hand splintered, cracking under her strength. He looked to his friends wildly as she continued to compress his mighty hand, her fingers digging into his flesh and breaking it wide open. Blood poured out of the wounds and mixed with a new misty wash of rainwater as she destroyed his essential tool of the trade. The alley echoed with the sounds of bone snapping and one desperate man begging to be released. "You're breaking my hand!" he screamed as he sank to his knees, his free hand grasping his trapped forearm, "Your fucking cunt! You're breaking it!" "I know," she replied evenly, her eyes still closed. In a single motion that was executed faster than the eye could follow, the woman twisted his right arm by his broken hand and snapped it in two. Bobby could hear the wet, dull *crack* of bone breaking under skin as Quentin screamed a silent, high-pitched cry of agony. His countenance was open and contorted in pure torment as his brain registered what had just happened to him. Bobby looked to James (who was already regretting laying eyes on this woman) as their fearless leader began crying like a child. Quentin looked at his ruined arm and hand as she released him, his face white and filled with disbelief. "Why?" he managed, his voice as broken and as useless as his arm. "Why not?" the woman asked, her head cocked gently to one side. Quentin suddenly wondered if he were dreaming all this as he watched as her eyes open and regard him coldly. Her corneas glowed a brilliant blue in the dark, as though an internal supernatural fire lit her from within. Quentin dropped to his knees. Her luminescent eyes looked down on him as she asserted herself to her full six-foot height, any illusions of weakness or fear now gone. As her attackers watched, they realized that it was they who had been lured into the trap. It was they who were the intended prey. "Quentin Maurice Handle," she said, "A career thief. A rapist of seven women, including your own mother and both your sisters. A killer of five women, including your own mother. Funny that you left your two sisters alive..." She glanced at Bobby and said, "Bobby Grogan. You steal from your father's grocery store on Fulton Avenue and secretly lust after your own niece." "I never," Bobby shook his head, backing up to the opposite wall as those brilliant blue lights burned through him. He knocked over a full can of trash and spilled the greasy contents out over his feet, eyes wide with fear and conviction, "I never ever-" "You gave her too much cold medicine," the beautiful woman said as her eyes bore into him, "Nyquil, wasn't it? You watched her drift off to sleep while your brother and his wife went to the movies. And then when she was silent, you took that little eleven year old girl and raped her until she began to wake up a half hour later." "No no," Bobby shook his head. "Why deny it, Bobby? You enjoyed it." "No." "You did it, Bobby." Bobby worked his mouth open to say something, but found his throat and brain would not cooperate. He knew exactly what she was talking about, and the apparent fact that she seemed to know his crimes as well as he did chilled him to the bone. She even knew that he had given the kid a bottle of Nyquil to loosen her up. Bobby felt into his jacket pocket and cradled his seven-inch switchblade with his fingers. He felt as though he might puke as he rubbed his thumb over the spring-release button. "How do you know?" he whispered. "When she woke up," the woman continued, "You gave her another dose of the medicine along with a heavy sedative... from your own stash of valium just to be safe." Bobby tightened his grip on the knife, her words like a hot needle in his mind. "Isn't she experiencing bad dreams now? Doesn't your brother confide in you his fears over her mental health?" "Shut up." "How do you answer him? What do you tell yourself to justify it, Bobby?" "Shut up..." "What do you tell yourself, Bobby?" He hated how she said his name. It felt like she was mocking him. Bobby wanted to cover his ears and run. He turned his face away from the woman, his cheeks burning with shame and anger. He shook his head and began swaying back and forth. "You tell yourself she had it coming, don't you?" Bobby's lips pursed together as she read his mind. "She always seems to hide when you come over now, doesn't she?" "Shut up!" The woman looked right at him, "She hides from you." "Shut the fuck up!" "You thought your secret was safe," she pushed further, "But children act more on instinct than on what they're told don't they, Bobby?" "I said shut up!" Bobby screamed, now at the point of lividly impotent tears. He gnashed his teeth together as spittle flew from his wet, thick lips and whipped the knife out of his pocket. He jammed the small silver button down and the blade sprung out with a tiny, barely audible click. "I wouldn't," she warned him, her brilliant blue eyes locked on him as she favored him with a small half smile and added, "Not yet anyway." The rain hammered down harder as lightning flashed overhead. The arc of natural electricity burned in the sky like a phantom hand with thousands of wicked fingers stretching out. It faded and was followed by a long roll of thunder. The woman turned to James, Quentin still on his knees and nursing his broken right arm, as Bobby stood poised, his knife out in front of him and shaking in his nervous hand. "James Darren," she said, somehow watching Bobby as she looked at the third criminal, "Drug dealer, pedophile and sodomizer of little boys." Nocturnus Eternal Ch. 01 James stood in the rain and listened, his legs weak as she not only knew his name but also knew of his nightlife. How many times had he abused his neighbors' kids? How many little children had he blindfolded and done that one simply brutal act to? He felt his body become hot and nauseated as she glared at him with her unnatural eyes. He wasn't ashamed of his deeds like Bobby was. Not in the slightest. What made him feel so sick was her stare, that invasive vision into his mind. He could feel her inside him, digging around and looking at things that were not hers to see. "What do you feel when the little boys cry?" James breathed deep. "Do you wonder at how you've destroyed their lives or do you just kick back in your recliner and watch re-runs of your favorite sitcom while the drown in their misery?" "What are you?" he asked and began back up towards the mouth of the alley. "She's the devil!" Bobby screamed and pointed at her with his knife. The woman turned, looked at the short thief and said, "You're wrong..." Bobby readied himself to strike. "I'm the woman the devil won't take," she said. Bobby gasped as his switchblade was suddenly snatched from his grasp in a single phantom movement. He gaped at his open, empty hand and saw that not only was he bleeding from the edge of his own knife, but also four of his fingers were missing. The bloody stumps of his pinky, ring, middle and index fingers spurted blood, as his brain finally understood that they were gone. He looked down and saw his severed digits in a bloody puddle between his boots. The fingers moved a little as fat worms forced up from their flooded burrows in the cracks of the cement writhed about in spastic death throes. A scream hitched in his throat and he looked up at her, his hand gushing blood. She was right in his face, never having moved and yet right there anyway. "Boo," she whispered. Bobby screamed and began to run as the rain sheeted down. He heard a strange 'whooshing' sound behind him and glanced over his shoulder. The woman was gone, and Quentin was lying on the ground crying and cradling his arm. The bitch had taken the fingers off his left hand. He would never be able to pick locks again. His life was over. That bitch had ruined his life. He cringed as his stumps throbbed and flared. Bobby was so consumed with his wound that he ran straight into what he thought was a wall and bounced backwards. He landed hard on his ass, absently putting his hands out to break his fall. The four stumps of his fingers ground into the pavement under the bulk of his weight. Bobby screamed a desperate release of air as he waved his bloody hand about as though it were on fire. The woman had somehow gotten in front of him, her face hidden in darkness but her eyes bright and fixed on him. He brought his foot up to kick her. The mysterious woman grabbed his boot and Bobby suddenly found himself spinning in the air. The world blurred past his eyes as his stomach lurched and shifted, at the mercy of centrifugal forces. She held him by his foot and spun him around two times before releasing him into the air. Bobby slammed face first into the side of the building, breaking his nose and further agitating his hand. The air rushed out of his lungs as his body compressed in the impact. A strangled breath eeked out of him as he fell to the wet ground, inhaling a lungful of filthy runoff. "I'm sorry!" Bobby coughed and sputtered as she grabbed him by his hair, her fingers tearing through his knit cap. "You shouldn't be apologizing to me," she said and pulled him backwards. Bobby cried out as she rammed his face into the wet brickwork wall. His broken nose exploded in a burst of white-hot pain and stars swam in front of his eyes as she jerked him back. His hands flailed wildly as he tried to bat her away. "Please!" he begged, choking on a foul mixture of mud water and his own blood. The flesh of his forehead split open as the woman drove his head into the unforgiving building side again, this time cracking the faded white enamel paint that coated it. She drew him back and Bobby cried out, "I'm sorry lady! I'm sorry!" "I know you are," she said and then slammed him into the wall one last time. Before he died, Bobby felt the structure of his skull shatter as muscle and bone caved in on him. Blood spattered the slick wall like someone had thrown an overly ripe tomato against it. The cartilage of his nose speared into his brain in broken slivers. Bobby gurgled as his broken jaw reflexively spasmed. "One," the woman said indifferently and released him. James Darren watched as his friend fell over backwards and splashed in the bloody water, his shattered face a ruin of gleaming bone fragments and twisted, raw flesh. The mystery woman turned and faced him, her unholy stare fixed on him and him alone. It was a horrific feeling, being singled out by something so alien and so unpredictable. Her vision penetrated him in such a way that he suddenly thought of his past time pleasures again. Her probing of his mind was such an intrusive act and he wondered if the boys he had taken had been this uncomfortable during the act? He thought maybe they might have been because in much the same way all his victims had cried, he found himself crying now. "No no," he mouthed, unable to look away from her as he slowly backed up. Lightning flashed again and illuminated her, her coat flapping out like some kind of cape around her. "Oh please, Jesus," he prayed as his heart hammered in his chest, "Please Lord..." "Leave Jesus out of this," she said. James heard her voice in his head, in the place between his ears as he saw that her lips weren't moving at all. "Get away from me!" He turned and began running as fast as his legs would take him. He decided that he would run into the street and scream like a madman if that's what it took to stay alive. He didn't care if he got arrested or not. He just wanted to be away from this alley and that crazy bitch. She was playing for keeps, as deadly serious about the affair as he and the others had been not more than five minutes ago. The odds had shifted in her favor in the blink of an eye; though the more he thought about it the more he realized that they were in her favor the whole time anyway. Maybe his observation of this alley as a deathtrap wasn't all that far from the truth. Either way, it was time to go. "Help me!" Quentin screamed from the ground as James sprinted past him, his boots splashing water everywhere. "Fuck you, man!" James breathed. He had never liked Q anyway. "You traitor!" Quentin spat, "You asshole! Don't you fucking leave me here!" "Shit!" James skidded to a stop. In his blind rush to leave the alley, he realized he had run to the end of the alley and found the wall blocking it off. The dead end alley had trapped him. The mystery woman, eyes still ablaze, was a living shadow against the passing lights of cars on the street. James looked up at the windows of the apartment building. He screamed, "Help!" James frantically darted about the narrow alley, kicking up trash and gutter water in a futile search for any exit as the woman slowly walked towards him, her pace slow and unconcerned. He felt a glimmer of hope in his chest as he noticed the fire escape to his left. He lunged for it, arms stretched out and fingers ready to grasp the ladder. He had just latched onto the first rod iron rung when something hit his back with a hard muffled thud and stole the air from his lungs. James hung there for a moment, a look of confusion and pain etching across his narrow features before dropping to the ground. His balance felt off-kilter and the world was spinning in a mad tilt-a-whirl as he struggled to take a breath. James tried to turn and see what had hit him and was greeted by a sharp pain that began in his chest and speared through his entire body. "What the-?" He gasped for air as his left lung collapsed in his chest. He looked down and saw a long spike protruding out from the space over her left pectoral muscle. Blood spread out across his yellow polo shirt and soaked his red flannel jacket as his hands wrapped around the cool steel that had impaled him. He fingered the spike and laughed to himself as blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth. The metal cold, but his blood was so hot. "No," James shook his head and then fell forward, his body convulsing violently. His face crashed in a filthy puddle of trash water and splashed. "You're right," the woman said, standing over the dead pedophile as lightning flashed again. She said, "Two..." Quentin had managed to make it half way towards the mouth of the alley before she saw him. He looked over his shoulder and then began scrambling like a madman as she turned her full attention to him. James had bought him a little escape time, but not enough apparently. His lips were drawn back from his haggard teeth as she came for him. His chest was heaving, rising and falling as hyperventilation set in and panic gripped his soul. His pants were soaked not only from rainwater but from his own urine. It wasn't supposed to have been this way. It was supposed to have been a simple grab, snatch and bang. He yelped as his jacket pulled tight and he was yanked backwards. He felt his neck pop as the muscles hyper extended and he was thrown to the wall. Below him was Bobby's corpse. Quentin couldn't bear to look as the woman stood before him, legs parted slightly, thick boots planted firm on the ground and burning eyes focused on him. She raised her open hand into the air, mimicking the exact movements from his slapping session earlier. Quentin knew he had lost his mind when from the tips of her fingers sprang one-inch long claws. They were like cat's claws, somewhat translucent and wicked looking. He squinted, unable to believe what he was seeing. "What do you think, Quentin?" she asked as the razor sharp bony protrusions glistened in the dim light, "Should I teach you a lesson?" "Bitch!" he spat at her defiantly. The woman slapped him hard, her claws slicing his face open in five long gashes. He didn't even feel a pull or tear. The flesh simply opened and bled. "Speak up," she told him calmly, reciting his own words to him. His eyes unfocused and went loopy as she slapped him again. His head snapped to one side as he recoiled from the blow. Blood was running down his neck from the open wounds on his face. Quentin felt as though the entire world was spinning away from him, leaving him the cold depths of open space. The sounds of the impacts echoed through his mind. "Speak up," she repeated and slapped him again, adding, "Bitch." Quentin was drifting in and out of reality. His whole body ached as she railed on him, beating him to within an inch of his life. As he floated in the mists in his own death, he wondered how things had gone so wrong so fast. Quentin had never believed in a Heaven. If there was a Heaven, then that meant there surely was a Hell. If there was Hell then that meant Heaven didn't take rapists. He knew James would not be walking the golden roads of the Almighty's home nor would Bobby be anywhere a pearly gate. No, Heaven made no allowance for the likes of them. Not for the unrepentant. Hell was where he was headed. That thought scared him, as surely as realizing he had been outsmarted and tricked by a woman of all people. An odd memory from his childhood came back to him as he drifted in and out of thought, another pearl of wisdom from his old man. His father had been reading a book by a guy named Milton the night he said something Quentin knew even then was profound but only now truly understood the relevance to his life. Mark Handle, a hard drinking thief who beat his wife and kicked the shit out of his three sons in the name of "bringing them up right" and always in "the name God," was a dedicated connoisseur of literature, and Milton was his favorite. It was an odd little ritual, a bizarre interest for a man who religiously read T.V. Guide and Hustler as a daily digest of literature. One night after receiving a severe beating for being home late from school, Quentin's father had looked down at him, the belt still in his hand, and said, "It is better to rule in Hell than to serve in Heaven, Quentin. Remember that..." It's funny what a man can think of right before he dies. Bobby had begged for his life, screaming like a stuck pig and abandoning any pretense of honor or dignity. James was a damned coward who turned and ran and left his partners behind. Quentin decided he would die with a little more dignity. He would not repent of his life. It was his life, and it was the only life he had ever known. If he defended it in life, then he could defend it here in death. Should he go to Hell tonight, then he would go with dignity and rest easy in the fact that no matter what, he would still stand head and shoulders above Bobby Grogan and James Darren. "What's your name?" he asked. "Renee," she replied. "Well Renee," Quentin managed as his head lolled from side to side, "Why don't you fucking bite me." "Yes Quentin," Renee nodded her head and pulled a long, wicked three-pronged stiletto he recognized as a Sai from the inner folds of her jacket. The black metal weapon had to be twenty inches long with the twin prongs at the base of the stiletto that curved wickedly into points. He looked with his good eye down the alley at James. Sticking out of his back was an identical weapon. She looked at him and said, "I intend to." He wondered how he could have missed those daggers when he grabbed her earlier? He was considering this little mystery even as the shiny Sai dagger punched through his right eye and lodged in the wall behind him sending thin cracks up the surface. His brain quivered and hemorrhaged in his skull as the gray matter was impaled and destroyed. His left eye rolled over to look at her as his arms and legs jerked twice and then fell limp. One last ragged breath escaped his throat as blood poured from the socket and the gelatin of his eyeball oozed down his cheek. "Goodbye, Quentin," she knelt down to him and pulled the dagger out. The fluids squelched as the long steel length came out with a wet *pop* sound. She tilted his head to one side and exposed his neck to the night. Lightning seared across the stormy sky again as her fangs slid down from their burrows in her gums. Renee lowered her lips to Quentin's neck and bit down hard. And then she fed.