Baby, when you start to bleed
You look so sweet!
-Sheryl Crow
I really hated moving to a new city, even when everything was going just right -- and things were. I found the perfect job right away, and I found a good place to stay. What I hate about moving are all the fucking details.
Details like dragging the carcass of a black panther down the streets of Metropolis at 2 in the morning without being seen.
Capturing the animal from the Riverside Zoo was surprisingly easy. The Zoo’s security was lax. Perhaps the management never expected that someone might want to steal one of their animals. Certainly, they could not have anticipated the use I had for this panther.
I dragged the animal about 300 yards, across a major highway, to a wall overlooking the river. I fastened it’s tail securely to a large rock and pushed the dead monster into a pocket of slow moving current. The water was about thirty feet deep, and after a few seconds, the large black body seemed to dissolve into it, gone for good.
Gone except for a handful of black fur that I saved in a plastic sandwich bag.
One last detail. I had to make it look like the panther was not stolen but had escaped. No problem. A truck driver, tired and a little tipsy so late at night, drives off the road, flips end over end down a hill, and crashes into the panther’s cage. The driver assumed killed by the crash.
I didn’t want to seem nervous, so I waited a few hours, and then, during my break time at work, I sat down at one of the tables and picked up this morning’s Daily Planet, and started reading:
THE PANTHER STRIKES AGAIN!
Police have confirmed that Sarah Riddel of South Metropolis was killed Tuesday
at 12:40 am by a panther, which had escaped from Riverside Zoo three nights
before, and which had killed Kristine Raja that same night.
Police are consulting with Zoo personnel and wildlife experts in an effort to
trap the animal, but so far are baffled by the animal’s behavior.
And that was all the paper said about last night’s killing. It didn’t mention how the body was mutilated and disemboweled, or how the rain seemingly washed away Sarah’s blood. It didn’t note the black panther hairs in Sarah’s hand, or the strangely calm expression on her face. I crumpled the paper and cursed in disappointment. "I feel the same way . . . Jim, right? It’s really a shame. Very pretty girl." sighed Lieutenant O’Neil as he sat down beside me, shaking his head.
"You knew her?" I asked, surprised and fascinated. It was a bad idea to appear too curious about my victims. The less I knew, the better, yet I needed to know, anyway. Sarah and I had shared an intimate moment, and she had sacrificed her life and her blood for me. That sacrifice meant nothing if I didn’t know what she had given up.
But more importantly, I had messed up big last night. I had broken two cardinal rules: Never hunt in desperation or with a pattern. O'Neil was an officer investigating the killings, and I wanted to know what he knew.
O’Neil shook his head. "Never met her, but I was on the scene last night , shortly after she died. Horrible sight. Dogs got at the corpse after the panther did, so determining the cause of death was a bitch, especially with the TV vultures poking their mikes in our faces, and with the newspapers desperately fishing for something to print in the morning edition."
I rolled my eyes and shivered, "And here I thought I was moving into a safe neighborhood, where crime and murder were just things in its past."
O’Neil stared at me quizzically, and I knew immediately I had made a mistake. He said: "Well, technically, Jim, these aren’t murders, but I know what you mean. Killing is killing, whether it’s an animal or a man, but there is one big difference."
"What’s that?" I asked, looking beyond him to the woman who was approaching our table.
"When we catch the monster, we won’t be reading him his fucking rights We won’t be tripping on our own feet, worrying about it's procedure. . We won’t be taking it alive, so some hot shot attorney can turn the killer into a victim. Not this time." O’Neil pointed a finger at me and said cold as ice: "We find him, we kill him, just the way it oughta be."
"Amen," I replied, trying to rush the conversation to a conclusion. As interested as I was in the details of the O’Neil’s investigation, I was even more interested in what the woman now standing over him had to say . . .
I couldn’t believe my luck when I got this job as a bouncer for a strip bar called the Kindling Klub, on Washington Crossing.
Two years ago, the place was called the Naked Passion, which was notorious for the fights that would break out weekly. Then a police station moved across the street, beginning a crack-down on crime in the area. Shortly thereafter, Supergirl claimed Washington Crossing as her main area of operations. Property values skyrocketed, and the crime rate plummeted
The Naked Passion had to change with the times, so they adopted a more tasteful name, and prettied up their exterior. Once they catered to blue collar workers, but today their customers were executives and even cops, who would check in as soon as they punched out at the station. In facts, cops became such a large part of their business that they opened a donut shop in the same building.
Despite the heavy police presence, the Kindling Klub still needed bouncers, mainly because even cops can get rowdy when they drink, and they may have the crazy urge to frisk one of the dancers. Bouncers have to treat cops differently than other unrulies, though. Cops carry guns, and they stick up for each other. They aren’t easily intimidated. So the club hired bouncers based on their social skills rather than their muscle mass. The best way to keep the peace in this environment was to make friends with the ranking officers, so they might help you when one of street cops gets out of line.
But, more importantly, these casual friendships with high ranking police officers also let me in on confidential information about on-going police investigations, including the "panther attacks." I knew that maybe one day, a swimmer would discover the carcass of the panther. Maybe one day the cops would find one of my fingerprints at the scene, or would be suspicious at the lack of blood in the victim’s body. When that happened, I’d be the first to know.
But keeping tabs on the cops was just a bonus. Watching the strippers was why I took the job in the first place. Actually, just one stripper in particular.
For decades now, vampires like me have been thriving in the underground world of Gotham City and my hometown of Bludhaven. We fit right in with all the twisted lifestyles, and murder was so common in those parts that no one noticed or cared about cause of death. Feeding was so easy that one night, when I was starving for a blood fix, and I didn’t give a fuck what people thought, I just grabbed a woman on a crowded street, charmed her with a cold stare, had my fill of her. I laid her body out on the side of the street in front of hundreds of potential witnesses. Citizens from high and low walked on by, seeing only the path ahead of them. One child stopped to stare, before he was swept up by his mother and whisked away.
Perhaps because of such willful ignorance, the vampire population was growing too fast in Bludhaven and Gotham. Recently the police started taking the "vampire cult" murders seriously. Soon they will realize that we aren’t a cult at all but a species of predators. Something was gonna give soon. Something was gonna wake the cities from their slumber and unite them against their common enemy. A war against the vampires was imminent. I figured I’d better get out sooner than later.
Every vampire licked their fangs when they thought of Metropolis, with more fresh bodies than Gotham and Bludhaven combined, yet with no competition from any other vampires. There was a reason for this. Law and order ruled in Metropolis, and we couldn’t live the lifestyle we were used to, there. We had to be careful and calculating, because just one suspicious looking killing would send the public into a panic. The cops would be posted on every corner.
But the cops were merely a nuisance. We could handle them. We could take their bullets, and we could toss them like rag dolls. Ten cops were no match for one vampire.
What we couldn’t handle were those damned Kryptonians.
She called herself Linda Lee. I asked her the first day if it was her real name. Strippers often used stage names, and Linda Lee had that ring to it. The name rolled off the tongue. It sounded sweet, like "candy". It sounded musical, like part of a rhyme. It sounded innocent, like she didn’t even understand the concept of evil or pain.
She smiled mischievously and nodded, like a child playing a pretend game, not really lying but totally possessed by her role. There was something about her I didn’t understand. Just being near her made my skin tingle, like tiny bursts of sunlight on my skin. That’s when I first got the idea. That’s when I first knew that, no matter how unwise, I had to have her.
Of course, I knew who she really was. I suspected, anyway. That’s why I got this job in the first place. My last victim in Bludhaven spilled the beans to me, trying to bargain for his life. He claimed to be a friend of the Catwoman, and that he had inside information on Supergirl. I figured he was just feeding me a story to save himself, but his story checked out.
Still, I wanted to make sure before I committed too much effort into my plan. I found the idea that Supergirl was secretly a stripper after-hours suspicious; it didn’t fit the usual superhero profile. Even more suspicious was that Linda Lee had a reputation for putting on extreme shows, calling attention to herself. So before accepting the job offered to me at the Kindling Klub, I stopped by to check this girl-of-steel out. I wanted to know her very well.
"Really? Your real name?" I asked her, not accepting her answer. "I’m thinking it’s really Linda Jones or Linda Zaleski, but not Linda Lee. It’s such a beautiful name, it has to be fake."
We were both sitting at the bar, and Linda was waiting to be called onto the stage. She was barely dressed in her work clothes (matching red g-string and bra). She was politely trying to avoid talking with me, as she sipped on a diet cola. I was probably the 100th person to hit on her this week, and the 99th to try that line about her name. But I must have put a different spin on it, or maybe she just liked the sound of my voice, or maybe she was just naturally friendly.
She blushed and turned slightly towards me, almost yelling to be heard over the music playing in the background. "You really like it? I always thought my name was kind of childish."
"Oh, definitely not!" I replied, involuntarily glancing down at her breasts before meeting her eyes. "Linda Lee. I think it’s a delicious name."
"Delicious?" she laughed. "How can a name be delicious."
"When I say your name," I replied, inching nearer to her, "my mouth starts to water."
Linda’s smile dropped slightly, as she looked into my eyes. We sat completely still for several seconds, when she forced herself to look away. The air around her seemed to warm up, and as her whole body flushed with blood.
"See?" I said, licking my lips and smiling a toothy grin. "Just thinking of your name makes me hungry."
"OK, Mr. Hungry Man," Linda said, trying to break the mood slightly by playing along. "What are you hungry for? What kind of food would I have to be to satisfy you."
I stared at her deeply and considered my reply. Linda still smiled playfully, but I know there was one food in particular she had in mind, one thing I could say to replace her humor with passion. "A peach. Something wet and soft with red in the middle."
Linda shifted on her seat and she could barely look at me when she asked, "How wet?"
"When I bite into you, I want to feel your juices dripping down my cheeks."
Linda sipped on her drink, but all that was left was ice. The song playing over the loudspeakers was almost over. Linda put her drink down on the table, and stared in my eyes. She touched my knee lightly with her hand. "When?"
Now it was my turn to feel uncomfortable. But I smiled and said, "Well, I feel pretty hungry right now."
My voice was a little too loud, now that the song was over.
The DJ broke the silence, saying, "Up next, on center stage, the Kindling Klub’s own little superstar, Linda Lee, will light your fire!"
Then the music started again -- a rather playful song, by Sheryl Crow I think. I could tell by Linda’s smile that it was a song she hand picked.
"Have you ever seen me dance?" She asked.
I shook my head.
She looked disappointed. "Common," She said, almost dragging me off my seat in her excitement.
She led me to a bouncer and whispered something in his ear. He flashed a strange look in my direction, and for a second, I thought she was turning on me and having me thrown out of the club.
But while Linda was preparing herself to climb onto center stage, the bouncer led me around the stage to the far corner. The bench seats were full, but he got everyone to move down and make room for me. "Lucky bastard," he muttered, as he walked away. I wondered what he meant, because I didn’t have a very good view from here.
While I had heard rumors that Linda Lee put on extreme shows, I wasn’t expecting much out of the ordinary. How extreme could she be?
Most women take their time stripping, starting with three or four items of clothing, tossing one every couple of minutes until they are naked. Then they will give everyone a nice view of their pussy and present their gartered leg for a gratuity. They never show much real excitement.
As I waited anxiously for Linda to begin her dance, I listened to the song she chose. It sounded very dangerous and exciting:
Linda entered the stage with only her g-string and her tiny bra, which was merely a souvenir in the audience before she shined her first smile. I barely had time to admire her perfect tits when she literally tore off her g-string, flashing a glimpse of her hairless pussy, an image that lingered in my mind.
Then she leaped into dance, moving so fast she was almost a blur, except for brief moments when she seemed to pause in mid-air, a fleeting image of raw, erotic beauty, and then a blur again. She danced like that for several minutes, her feet never seeming to touch the ground, until she gracefully came in for a landing far away from me, on the other side of the stage.
Someone seemed to have caught her eye. A man she picked out of the crowd. She slow danced towards him. But then another man caught her eye, and she changed direction. Now she was crawling along the edge of the stage on hands and knees from one man to another, looking them over, one by one. Never did she look ahead to where I was sitting. If she kept crawling along the edge, I’d be the last man she’d meet. But somehow I knew that she was thinking about me.
Now she was halfway around, and she was getting more and more flirtatious. She touched one man’s cheek. She touched another man’s leg. She was crawling so near to the edge that several times it looked as though she’d fall over into the lap of some lucky man. It was all part of her act.
But her passion wasn’t an act at all. Her face was red with heat. Her eyes were determined, almost predatory. When she was still three men away, she finally looked ahead at me and didn’t pause in her approach.
She leaned over the edge to kiss me, and I stretched forward to accept my gift. But she turned away suddenly, purposefully brushing her body against my outstretched lips as she passed, filling the air with her aroma, and then pausing when her ass was literally touching my cheek, and her pussy only inches away.
She was in dire need of attention. Her pussy was swollen and drenched in her own juices. Trails ran down her thighs, and reached to the stage itself.
I froze, unable to move, burning from the heat and entranced by the view,. . .
Which somehow got even better when Linda raised her leg high in the air, stretching her pussy lips slightly, and starting a new flow of nectar.
"You asked for something wet and soft and red in the middle," she prompted, resting her leg on my shoulder. "If you are still hungry ... "
. .. she rolled over and put her other leg on my other shoulder. . .
". . . then come and get it."
Her eyes were half open, almost pleading with me, while she squeezed her breasts with her hands, leaving her pussy for me to do with as I willed.
Part of me held back, wondering what the audience was thinking, or what the consequences might be with the club’s management. But I knew I’d never get another invitation like this.
And I may never want a woman again as much as I wanted Linda right then.
I stroked Linda’s legs with my hands as I pretended to be uncertain, then I kissed her knees and her thighs, never taking my eyes off of her pussy.
Linda moaned, tortured by my light, peripheral kisses and teasing glances. She edged her pussy even closer.
I kissed her inner thighs, as my hair fell on her pussy, tickling it like a feather. I grabbed her ass tightly with both hands.
"Hey!" she finally complained, "You said you were . . . OH!"
I pushed her forward, as I dove into her pussy. I thought she came right then when the gush of her juices filled my mouth and splattered on my cheeks.
I almost came myself just from tasting her. If I had any doubts that Linda was Supergirl, they ended right there. How could any other woman could taste that good? Or smell that good? Or need to be fucked so bad?
I don’t know how long I was up there on the stage, between her legs, devouring her. I could have drank her forever, but even Supergirl herself had her limits. When her juices stopped flowing, I craved her all the more. I sucked on her pussy walls and her clit, and fucked her with my fingers, until her whole body shook and her chest heaved as she screamed.
Then her firm ass softened in my hands. Her skin seemed to change texture slightly. She was lying still, totally satisfied . . . and weak.
It was then that I noticed: My dick was hard as a rock. Something that should never happen to me. My whole body was tingling.
I felt a new hunger building inside me.
I climbed up her body, kissing her along the way. I paused at her breasts to suck on her nipples. They were very soft and sensitive.
I sucked hard just below her nipple, and saw the rush of blood to the injured area.
My heart raced, and my desire for her turned into a kind of dark lust. Her weakness raised a feral hunger in me. As her strength faded, my strength grew, and my muscles tensed. My teeth were growing . . .
. . .as was the terror of what I might do.
I rolled off of Linda and lay flat on my back.
Linda rolled on top of me and smiled sweetly. "Thank you," she said. "That was really wonderful."
I refused to meet her eyes.
"Oh, I’m sorry. I keep thinking about my own pleasure. Here, let me return the favor," she whispered in my ear, exposing her neck, as her hand stroked my chest, en route to my pants.
I composed myself and slid out from under Linda, never meeting her eyes. "Thanks, but I’m sorry but I have to go now. Right now."
I let an hour pass, just hiding in the shadows. I couldn’t wait any longer.
I crossed paths with Sarah Riddel on empty streets of Metropolis at about three in the morning. It was drizzling and cold, and she was huddled tight in her wet jacket. She kept a wary eye on me as we neared each other.
"What’s a pretty young lady doing, walking the streets all alone?" I asked.
She relaxed a bit. Maybe she liked the sound of my voice, and she was eager for a reason to relax. Maybe she saw my spiffy new bouncer uniform, and thought I was an officer of the law.
In any case, she made a mistake.
When I first smelled her aroma, it was like the smell of food to a starving man. Or a starving animal. She could see my hunger, but she couldn’t run. She was lost in my eyes. Death is painless for a vampire’s prey. She simply succumbed to my will and gave up the essence of her life.
For a moment, the taste of her blood on my tongue and the rush of her blood through my veins was all I could feel. It was like her soul was filling my body. I drank until here wasn’t enough blood left in her to stain my new uniform.
Now she lay limp on the sidewalk, and I hesitated.
I tore into her skin with my fingernails -- nails that were sharp as a panther’s claws. What little blood there was left in her spilled out onto the street, quickly spreading into the puddle of water on which she lied. I cringed, not liking what I was doing. I never had a problem with the taking of my prey; it was something I needed to do. But it was common decency for a vampire to leave the prey’s body intact -- at least allowing her some dignity in her death, since, after all, she gave up her life for me. But panthers had no such morals, and so I must not either.
"Amen," I said to O’Neil, about 15 hours later.
Linda stood behind him. She was dressed in a lustrous blue silk blouse with a matching skirt, which fell like waves on the ocean over her body, hiding much of her figure, but accentuating the smooth contour of her hips, and making her erect nipples impossible to ignore.
She put a hand on O’Neil’s shoulder. When he turned to face her, his face lit up. He had a hard-on for Linda, and just being near her for a few moments was enough to make his day. "Oh, hi there, my little Honey Dew!" he said, with his eyes drifting south to her breasts.
She smiled. "You guys talking about that panther attack again?"
"Yeah, its a terrible thing," O’Neil said, shaking his head, "but don’t you worry, we’ll catch that monster, and you can feel safe again real soon."
"I’m sure you will," Linda replied, then glanced at me. "Will you excuse me officer, but I’d like to talk with Jim for a moment."
O’Neil promptly gave up his seat to her, but flashed a look at me when Linda wasn’t looking, as if to say, "lucky fucking bastard." I smiled and waved goodbye to him.
Now it was just Linda and me sitting alone at the large table. She took a sip on her cola, then just stared at me, saying nothing. She tried smiling, to show me she wasn’t angry, but she did want an explanation for my rude exit from the stage last night.
I tried to think about what to say. Maybe it was best to tell her off, to tell her that last night was a big mistake. "I’m sorry, Linda, something just came over me last night. I didn’t mean to make a scene. Something just . . . wasn’t right."
She took my hand in hers. "That’s OK. I understand. It was all a big mistake."
"Mistake?--" I asked. The word stung when I was on the receiving end. "How can you call it a mistake."
"Oh, no!" she rushed to correct herself. "I mean, I don’t regret it at all. Thank you so much. No one has every made me come so hard on stage before. You have a wonderful tongue."
I smiled, feeling about as embarrassed as a school boy who just got kissed for the first time. Embarrassed and surprised.
What the hell was happening to me? Vampires weren’t supposed to feel this way. Was she using one of her super-powers on me? Or did I just underestimate her all too human powers?
Linda continued with regret, "I just wish that I could have done the same for you, but now it’s too late."
"What do you mean?"
"I just found out a few minutes ago that you were working here. I never would have been so intimate with you if I had known we’d be working together. So we can’t . . ." she began, taking a deep breath, " we can’t do . . . you know . . . anymore."
"Is that what the boss said?" I asked.
"No, it’s not that. I just don’t think it’s a very good idea," she said, while stirring her drink with the straw, then glancing up briefly to see my reaction. "It can get complicated. With strangers, it’s different. They don’t have any expectations, and they just leave the bar with nice memories."
"I don’t have any expectations," I said flatly.
"I’m glad," she said, not looking glad at all, then sipping again on her cola.
That’s when I realized that Linda wasn’t being totally honest, maybe not even with herself. She was not the kind of woman who avoided complications or emotional connections. If anything, she sought them out. I decided to remind her of that.
"Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"
Linda hesitated, then smiled, "Only if you don’t mind when I don’t answer it."
"Why do you work here? I know they don’t pay you enough to do what you did with me last night."
Linda nodded. "They don’t pay me anything for that. In fact, it gets deducted from my pay, so that I can’t be accused of selling sex."
"Exactly. So why do it?"
Linda smiled and shrugged. "It’s good advertising. Men follow me around, hoping they’ll be chosen next."
I glared at her suspiciously. "Nope, don't buy it. It’s too extreme to be just a gimmick. Besides, you get off on it way too much."
"OK, if you must know, it really turns me on!" Linda confessed, smiling, but refusing to meet my eyes. Then she opened up completely. "I guess you could call me a nymphomaniac."
"Did you ever hear the one about the blonde nympho …."
"Shut up!" Linda hit my shoulder gently with her fist, then continued. "I’m serious. This job is a kind of therapy for me."
"Really?" I asked, amazed. "A doctor recommended you do this?"
"No, my counselor told me to try celibacy," Linda laughed as if it was a joke. "She said that I was just looking for approval and love. Maybe she was right about that, but it’s not the whole story. You see . . . well, I don't want to get into the details, but I’m different from other women sexually. My body goes crazy sometimes, and I just can’t get sex out of my mind. I’ve tried to control myself, but I can't, and I made a lot of mistakes trying. It doesn't matter what I'm thinking or how I'm feeling -- somehow something will turn me on. Whenever I had sex, it wasn’t enough, and when I masturbated, I felt depressed and lonely. I guess I just always believed that sex should be shared. I always thought that sex and making love were the same thing. And I know it’s silly, but I feel like I’m making love when I’m up there, on the stage. I feel like I’m being loved, with all those men gazing longingly at me when I come."
"People say that you come during every show," I commented, amazed.
"Almost, six or seven shows every night," Linda smiled wickedly. "I told you I was a nympho. But I don’t ask men up on the stage very often. Not every day, anyway -- only when they really turn me on, when they make my pussy ache…"
"So I make your pussy ache, huh?"
Linda shifted in her seat, barely hiding a smile. "You did last night."
"But not now?"
She hesitated. "No, not now."
"Really?" I asked, reaching under the table, stroking her with my open hand from her hip to her knee, then sliding back up on the inside of her leg. Her skin was like fire.
"Stop it," she whispered, but then she licked her lips. She closed her eyes, sliding her ass forward on the bench seat, and opening her legs slightly.
I fondled her thigh through her silk skirt, stroking in tiny circles, while inching the hem towards her hips, bunching up her skirt in between, like whitecaps falling over each other, where the ocean met the shore, and then turning to steam on the hot beach.
Linda moaned and leaned into me, when my hand finally dipped into her Bermuda Triangle.
She was as wet now as I remembered her from last night, and her juices nearly exploded forth at my touch.
"We shouldn’t be doing this," Linda argued, as she rested her head on my shoulder.
I kissed and nuzzled her hair, which smelled almost as exciting as her perfume. That’s when I saw the touch of fresh blonde hairs mixed with the brunette. I had thought she was wearing a wig, but apparently she had dyed her hair brown. I don’t know why, but that turned me on even more.
"Maybe that’s why you like it so much because we shouldn't be doing it, " I said, blowing in her ear, and sliding a finger inside her.
"I’m getting too wet," Linda complained. "It’s gonna stain my skirt."
"Well, we can’t have that. Let me see what I can do," I said, sliding down under the table.
"Wait!" Linda said, moving as if to rise from her seat, but she stopped. She was so wet now, a trail of her juices would run down her leg if she stood. Instead she lifted her skirt, to protect it, bunching it behind her back. Her juices now ran down onto the hard wood seat.
I bumped my head against the table, as I crawled between her legs. I began by kissing her thighs, teasing her like I had last night, but Linda would have none of that. She grabbed my head and pulled me straight into her pussy. I couldn’t resist if I had wanted to. I licked all around her bare triangle, but that was like licking the cream off a melting ice-cream cone -- I would never keep up. I had to go to the source. When I slid my tongue into her pussy, she squirted, like when eating a grapefruit with a spoon. Linda tried to put her legs on my shoulders, but there just wasn’t enough room under the table.
I reached up her blouse with one hand, gently squeezing her breast, but Linda suddenly pushed my hand down. I tried to speak, but she silenced me by pushing my face deep into her pussy.
"Hi!" she said, loud enough to cover my muffled objections.
"So . . ." said an unfamiliar voice, as a woman sat down on the other side of the table.
"What happened?" said a second, huskier voice, as another woman sat beside her. Her knee bumped into my elbow, but she quickly repositioned her legs, not suspecting a thing.
I kneeled perfectly still, with my face covered in Linda’s honey, and my hand squeezing her ass.
Linda’s voice was shaky. "I told him just what you said I should tell him."
"And . . .?" asked the first woman.
"How did he respond?" demanded the husky voice.
Linda replied. "He said that he had no expectations."
Linda squirmed slightly, when I tickled her pussy lips with my tongue.
"That’s all?" asked the husky voice. "Do you think he got the message? It’s bad enough that you fuck the customers, stealing them all for yourself, but we can't have the help buzzing around you like flies, too, ignoring their jobs."
"I think he got the message," Linda said, maintaining remarkable self-control as I pushed two fingers deep inside her, and I blew softly on her clit.
The other woman spoke up, speaking more softly. "We’re sorry to give you the third degree, Linda. It’s just that these horny creeps aren’t much use to us when all they can think of is sucking that hyper cunt of yours."
"I know what you mean," Linda could barely say. Then suddenly she giggled and cried out, when I pulled her ass under the table, sucking hard on her pussy lips, and thrusting a slippery finger up her asshole. Her muscles squeezed so tight around my finger, I thought it was broken for a moment.
Suddenly there was a lot of commotion above, as the two strippers finally understood what was going on under their noses.
"Oh, great, Linda," said one.
"You’re so fucking hopeless," said the other.
And then they were gone, leaving a trail of curses and stomping feet behind them.
I pulled Linda the rest of the way under the table. Her head hit the seat hard on the way down, but it didn’t knock the mischievous smile from her mouth.
She reached for my belt, and undid the buckle, but I kissed her hard on the lips before she could grab the zipper. She put her arms around my waist and kissed me back, probing my mouth with her tongue, taking my breath away.
And before I knew it, she was suddenly on top of me, her breasts spilling out from the blouse, her pussy spreading it’s juice on my leg, as she climbed down my body, just one thought on her mind. She smiled up at me, as she reached into my pants, pulling out my rock hard dick . . .
. . . releasing the monster within me. I could control the monster’s hunger for blood, but I couldn’t control it’s hunger for Linda. I didn’t know what the monster might do.
I struggled to free myself, but she had my legs pinned. She lowered her mouth to my dick. I tried to push her off, but I don’t think she even noticed. She didn’t budge. I was never in this position before, the weaker party, so I panicked. I flailed at her head, until at last she pulled away. As soon as I was free, I crawled out from under the table and hurried to the men’s room.
For the second time in as many days, I left Linda alone, confused and frustrated. But at least she was alive.
And at least Linda could do something about her frustration. She didn’t waste any time worrying about what happened or adjusting her clothes or regaining her composure. She climbed up on one of the side stages, in one of the secluded corners of the club, and she started performing.
The boss, who always had his third eye on her, fetched me out of the restroom. "Linda’s in one of those moods again," he said, shaking his head. "You’d better keep a close eye on that bitch. She’s always flirting with disaster."
Tina, the woman on center stage, looked genuinely pissed as half her audience and one spotlight migrated across the club for Linda’s impromptu performance.
I followed, too, and stood at the end of the stage, watching Linda. She glanced at me, but then she looked away. She stared off into space, as she satisfied her own pleasures.
She wasn’t really dancing, and she wasn’t really stripping. She was just getting herself off. She laid down on the stage, spread her legs, and plowed the skirt into her pussy with her fingertips. She glanced at me again, to make sure I was still watching, to make sure I knew what I was missing, and then she closed her eyes, as her sweet juice soaked into the folds of her skirt.
I couldn’t stand still, as I watched the stain grow, so I grabbed the back of a chair for support. What the hell was she doing to me? She awakened every passion in my body. I wanted to devour her completely. My fingernails dug deep into the chair. I felt the wood crumbling in my hands.
I was doing something to her, too. Linda was so weak now that she could barely stay on her feet, much less dance. She stumbled around, looking drunk, and until finally she spoke into the crowd of police officers, saying, "I’m a bad girl. Come and arrest me."
O’Neil’s face lit up like a bulb, as he and an officer named Savage, pushed past me onto the stage, hurrying like children to be part of a favorite game: cops and robbers, with a naughty twist.
Savage pulled out his billy club.
"Turn and lean against the pole!" O’Neil yelled, reaching for his gun.
Linda grabbed the pole at the edge of the stage with both hands, where Savage immediately handcuffed her.
"Spread your legs. . ." O’Neil said, but he was already frisking her from behind before she could oblige. He reached around her to feel her breasts. As he was about to squeeze, Linda bent forward, pressing her ass against the bump in his pants, pushing him back. O’Neil’s hands slid down her blouse to her skirt, where he examined her ass in a very unprofessional manner. "My, what do we have here?" he asked, as his hand slithered under the hem of her skirt.
Linda gasped. The handcuffs scraped against the pole, as Linda leaned over even further, and her hands nearly touched the ground.
O’Neil tore her skirt away, and upon seeing her pink, needing cunt, crying out for help, he rushed to her aid. He dropped the gun, and pulled out his concealed weapon.
Savage put his club under Linda’s chin, forcing her to look up.
But Linda looked passed him. Our eyes locked. She looked so weak, she could barely keep from falling, yet she mocked me. She was determined to make me regret not taking her.
Savage put his club to Linda’s lips, but Linda turned her face away. Then she looked up at him and licked her lips. "Aren’t you a little old to be playing with toys?"
Savage dropped the club. He reached for his zipper with one hand and grabbed Linda by the hair with his other, making her cry out in surprise, and exposing her full neck to my view.
I knew what was coming next, and I couldn’t watch. I couldn’t think clearly anymore, and I was afraid that I would do something stupid. My body was changing, transforming. My dick grew with my passion. My teeth grew with my fury. I was terrified that I would charge up on stage, in front of a dozen cops, and take Linda right then and there.
So instead I did the next worst thing . . .
"I’m sorry boss, but I have to leave for a while." I didn’t give him a chance to respond as I hurried out of the Kindling Klub.
I ran down the streets of Metropolis, trying to cool off, but I couldn’t stop thinking of Linda. Her sweet lips, her sweet eyes, her sweet breasts, her sweet pussy.
Her sweet blood.
And her unholy passion. She had a lusting as strong and uncontrollable and needing as mine. She needed to be taken as much as I needed to take.
And I hated her! I hated her because she was forbidden. I hated her because I needed her. She was my perfect complement, and my perfect contradiction. I hated her because I was starting to love her, and my love could only bring about her death.
NATURAL BORN KILLER
Metropolis (AP) - Just hours after earning her PHD in
para-psychology at MU, Pamela David of Leesburg died at 12:14 AM Thursday, the
third victim of a panther which had escaped from the Riverside Zoo early Sunday
morning, and the second victim in 24 hours.
MPD Lieutenant Brian O’Neil described the scene as: "The worst thing I’ve ever
seen."
Naturalist Erik Gundelfinger, noting the extent of mutilation, suggested that
the panther, which at first killed for food, "is now killing with an almost
human brutality."
Supergirl arrived at the scene shortly after the police. She offered her deepest
sympathies to Pamela David’s family, and promised to use all of her powers to
assist in the capture of the panther.
I hesitated before approaching the table, the same table Linda and I were making love at (and under) last night. Linda was now sitting there alone with her face stuck in this morning’s Daily Planet. I knew that I should just forget about her. I should just walk away, just quit this job, which was supposed to be the perfect cover for the first vampire in Metropolis. It might have been, if only I had kept my wits about me.
But I hadn’t been thinking right since I first met Linda just two short days ago. I couldn’t stay away from her. I would always come back. I was hooked.
Linda lowered the newspaper and looked up at me. I had forgotten about her super-vision -- she was probably watching me all along, looking right through the paper. Watching me with fire in her eyes.
"I don’t know what to say, Linda," I said while sitting down beside her. "I’m so sorry about last night."
"That’s OK," she replied, her voice severe, while looking again at the newspaper. "You were right; making love was a bad idea. We should keep our relationship totally professional. No more fucking, no more being fucked. I can't take being hurt all the time."
"Please don’t talk like that," I said, shivering from her icy response. She was as cold as the living dead. It didn’t suit her. "I really didn’t want to hurt you."
"Oh?" Linda shouted, dropping the paper. Her calm exploded, pain pulling one way, anger the other. "So how did you think I’d feel when you just left me there? Do you think I like being used? . . ."
Then she added softly, "Do you think that’s what I deserve?"
I shook my head. "Oh, no, the problem is with me, not you. It’s all my fault. Being with you was like . . . like being in Heaven. I am the one who doesn’t deserve you."
"Is that why you left? Is that why you hit me on the head and ridiculed me in front of everyone?"
I shook my head again, and started blurting out the truth. "I . . . was trying to keep you safe."
Linda was startled by my reply. Her eyes darted with a chaotic movement of emotions. She touched her throat in a defensive gesture, as though sensing something about me. "Safe from what?"
"Safe from me. You see . . . I have a disease," I explained, juggling truth with lies. "A disease that might kill you."
Linda took my hand, as her turbulent emotions anchored on concern. "Do you have AIDS?"
"Something like that. But it's even more dangerous. I didn’t want to take a chance on hurting you."
Linda reached out and embraced me before I could say another word.
I wanted to hold her, but my hands paused in mid-air, inches from her back. I was afraid of losing control again. I was afraid to breathe in her scent, to feel her warm skin against mine, to hear her breathing.
But my need for her was greater than my fear. I held her tight, like a drowning man to a life preserver, clinging to her, clinging to myself, not wanting anything to change.
Linda whispered softly in my ear, saying, "I’m sorry I was so mad. I’m so sorry I teased you so cruelly last night. Please don't leave me. Please don't ever die." She lightly stroked my back, and I felt her tears against my cheek, burning like holy water. Her kisses on my neck felt like paradise. Her love filled me, putting me at peace.
And then it struck me how strange this was. After only two days, I had fallen head over heels for Linda, feeling emotions that no vampire should be able to feel. And during those same two days, Linda was clinging to me like we were the closest of intimates -- something she never did with any of her other customers or co-workers.
At first, I had thought she had a kind of super sex appeal, something so powerful it made her irresistible to any man. But that wasn't it. Her powers may have enhanced her appeal, and she put on a hell of a show, yet most of her lusting fans kept their wits about them.
Then I had thought Linda was attracted to me because of my winning personality -- an important skill for anyone who hunts people for a living. I have paralyzed many victims simply by staring into their eyes; they offered up their bodies to me, but they never opened up their hearts or their souls, as Linda was doing.
There was some kind of magic happening between us. We fit together in a kind of perfect symmetry, like yin and yang. An energy flowed between us when we touched, like an electric circuit. She was positive. I was negative. Perfect chemistry.
"Excuse me, Jim," said a voice, countering the magic, chiseling away at the bond. "I need to have a word with Linda."
Damn you, O'Neil, I thought. You had your fun with her last night, now leave her alone!
I tried to ignore him, but Linda loosened her hold on me.
"What is it?" she asked. O'Neil stared at me. He clearly expected me to leave, but Linda held my hand securely, and said. "It's OK, I want him here with me."
O'Neil shook his head solemnly, looking nothing like a man whose sexual fantasies just came true last night. He had always greeted Linda with a wide smile and a hard on, but right now he was as serious as a Jew in Auschwitz. What was going on?
"I just have a few more questions," he said, sitting down and producing a pen and a notepad. "When you last talked with Pamela David, did she mention meeting any new men?"
Linda shook her head. "She is not interested in men. . . wasn't, I mean. She was a lesbian."
"Even lesbians meet men," O'Neil pushed. "Are you saying that she never talked about men, period?"
Linda looked as baffled as I was. "Why are you asking me about this? She was killed by a panther, not a man . . . right?"
O'Neil shrugged. "I'm not so sure anymore. Now I think she may have been murdered."
"Ouch!" Linda cried out, as she pulled her hands from my tightening grip.
"Sorry," I said, stroking her hand lightly. "Are you OK?"
Linda wasn't really hurt, but she stared at me in confusion and amazement that anyone could squeeze her hand so tight.
But she didn't know how upset I felt right then. She didn't know how the world seemed to be collapsing around me, especially in the past minute. Suddenly, my cover was shot, and I didn't have an alibi for last night -- an alibi for the murder of one of Linda's close friends. And worst of all, I was falling in love. I was falling in love with someone, who, if she knew the real me, would hate me.
O'Neil raised an eyebrow, wondering what had happened, but then he pressed on without a comment. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to add to your burden. I know you and Ms David were very close."
Linda pressed into me for support, and despite the whirlwind of emotions I was feeling, I put my arm around her protectively. I wanted to cover her ears, to protect her from hearing the whole truth.
"Why do you think Pam was murdered?" Linda finally asked.
"Several things," O'Neil began counting with his fingers. "First, all of the victims were attractive young women; there aren't many attractive women who walk the streets alone at three in the morning, so the killer must have been seeking them out. Second, according to the ME, the victim died while standing upright, and all of the scratches occurred postmortem -- both inconsistent with an animal attack. And finally, we found a few human hairs in her hand."
I really had fucked everything up good. Before I came to Metropolis, I had made a mental list of do's & don'ts. In only four day's I had broken almost every rule on the list. Now there was only one rule left: Never blow your cover.
"But what about the panther hairs?" I asked, figuring that I should be curious, as if casually discussing a current event. "Didn't the scientists say that they found panther hairs at the scenes?"
O'Neil nodded. "We think the killer is somehow connected to the panther. Maybe he kidnapped it. Maybe he killed it. Maybe the killer works for the zoo. We haven't given it a lot of thought until the autopsy report. Now we're gonna take a second look at the victims and possible suspects in light of this new information."
I nodded. They'll probably think again about the lack of blood in the victim's bodies, and they'll note the strange calm on their faces -- two signatures of a vampire attack.
"Do you have any suspects?" Linda asked, sitting up straight and alert. I saw a glint of vengence in her eyes.
"Nothing yet, and I'm afraid that almost everyone will have a solid alibi. They could say they were asleep at midnight, like most working folk." Then O'Neil smiled. "Most folk besides cops, strippers and bouncers, anyway."
I didn't like the direction this conversation was taking. It was only a matter of time before he asked where I was last night. So I tried to lighten the mood up a bit. "Hey, I resent being called a bouncer. I'm a security guard."
O'Neil shot back, "Yeah, we call you guys the Pussy Police at the station."
"How about the Cunt Cops," Linda said, then suddenly she hid her face in embarrassment.
We both stared at her for a moment, too surprised to laugh.
"Anyway," O'Neil began, sounding serious again. "We'll be out in force tonight, looking for suspects and young ladies who are foolish enough to walk home alone. If the creep is out there, we'll see him."
O'Neil seemed determined to talk about suspects. I had to try something more provocative to get him off the subject. "Why hasn't Supergirl done anything about this? Where are the superheroes when you need them?"
Linda and O'Neil glanced at each other, which struck me as odd, and then Linda said, "She was probably sleeping, like everyone else."
"Really? I didn't think they needed to sleep. I would have thought all that extra energy would keep them awake at night."
I could see the confusion in Linda's eyes, as she tried to defend her alter ego. "We . . . They need to sleep just like anyone else. Besides . . .you haven't read Clark Kent's article in the paper a few weeks back?"
I shook my head. "I just read the headlines."
"Well," Linda began, deep in thought, either remembering the article or talking from experience, "you know that Kryptonians get their power from the sun, right? Well, they lose most of their energy at night, when the sun goes down. I mean, they still have a lot of power, they can still fly and all that, but they are much weaker and being without sunlight wipes them out until they simply have to sleep."
My jaw dropped, as the proverbial light bulb flashed on in my head. Suddenly, my intense attraction to Linda and even the physical chemistry we had together -- it all made sense. Sunlight! That was the connection between Linda and me. That's why my skin burned and why she ached whenever we were near each other. She radiated with life born from sunlight, while I fed from her life and drew my strength from the darkness. She suffered from too much life, too much love, too much emotion. I suffered from apathy and hunger and death. We were perfect for each other.
Or maybe we would be each other's destruction.
"So the best time for a criminal to strike is at night," commented O'Neil. Apparently a light was going off in his head, too, but it was leading him in the wrong direction. "I wonder if our killer planned it this way. Maybe writing that article wasn't such a good idea. Leave it to a reporter to mess everything up for crime fighters."
"What if Superman or Supergirl slept earlier in the evening?" I asked Linda. "Did the article say anything about that? Maybe they could sleep between sunset and midnight, and be ready to fight at midnight."
Linda shook her head. "I don't think the article talked about that . . . but I guess they lose energy whether they sleep or not, and they are really tired until the sun comes up again."
O'Neil frowned at Linda. "She's gonna have a tough time keeping that promise she made last night to Pamela's parents. How can she use all of her powers to help capture this creep when she's half asleep? "
Linda shrugged. "I'm sure she'll do her best…"
Linda danced for one show that night, but she wasn't into it at all, and she asked the boss for the rest of the night off.
The boss was a real prick, but he knew that Linda had just lost a close friend last night, so he let her go. It wasn't like he was gonna fire his biggest star, anyway.
Firing me was a different story. After the stunt I pulled last night -- walking out in the middle of a show with no explanation -- the boss told me I could pick up my first and only check in eight days.
But I hung around, watching Linda perform for that one show, and she ignored the whole audience, dancing only for me. She went through all the motions, teasing me, and then opening her pussy wide, inviting me in. She wanted for me to climb up on stage with her and send her to nirvana, like I did that first night. But the wettest woman alive was only wet around the eyes. So I climbed up on stage, covered her with my jacket, and led her into the back room, where we talked for hours, until the bar closed.
But Linda didn't want to stop talking, or the sadness would come back, so we started walking together on the deserted streets of Metropolis.
"I want to talk until dawn," Linda said with a skip and a smile. She swung her purse in the air, as though suddenly she didn't have a care in the world. She was still naked, wearing only my jacket. She wasn't even wearing shoes.
"Well, what should we talk about?" I asked.
"How about we talk about you?"
I shook my head, "Nothing much to say about me. How about we talk about you?"
"If I tell you about me, will you tell me about you?" she asked.
I shrugged. "Maybe."
Linda frowned, but she wanted to talk, not argue. "So where should I start?"
"How do you know Pamela David?"
Linda shook her head vehemently, "No unhappy stuff."
"How about happy memories about her? Maybe something you'd want to remember her by."
"Why do you want to know about her?" Linda asked.
I shrugged. I always liked to hear about the lives that were sacrificed for me, but I couldn't tell Linda that.
Linda smiled with a tear in her eye. "Pamela showed me how to dance. We used to dance for each other."
"Really?"
"That was how we'd make love. We'd dance for hours, and we'd play role playing games. S&M. Until we were so hot and tired we just collapsed in bed together. Most of the stuff I do on stage for the Kindling Klub I did with her first."
"So what happened? Why did you stop seeing each other."
Linda shook her head and took my hand. She didn't answer for about a minute. "I loved her, but loving her was not enough. She couldn't satisfy me, and she refused to share me with anyone. I tried my best to be faithful, but I couldn't be faithful in my fantasies, and she always knew exactly how I was feeling. And when I finally … cheated, she knew that, too."
I squeezed her hand gently. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be asking questions like that."
Linda smiled. "Let's talk about something more fun."
"Like what?"
"Like why did you get a job in a strip club? You already know why I work there."
I nodded. "Because you are one fantastic fucking machine."
Linda gave me a gentle shove that almost lifted me off my feet. "Shut up!"
"I meant it as a compliment. You are also wetter than a watermelon. But I don't understand why you invite men on stage with you. Some people say that it makes you dirty."
Linda raised her nose in the air. "I'll have you know I wash myself completely after every performance. All my customers get fresh, grade A pussy."
I smiled. "But what about getting pregnant?"
"Only one man can do that to me, and he won't, so there's nothing to worry about," Linda said mysteriously, and then she patted my crotch. "Besides, I can't get pregnant if a man won't even take it out of his pants."
"But I told you, I have a disease. Aren't you worried about diseases?"
Linda shook her head confidently. "Nothing to worry about. I can't catch diseases. Doctor said so."
Alright, Linda, you might as well just come out and say that you're Supergirl if you'll make comments like that.
She stopped me, looked me in the eyes, and whispered her confession, "You know, you really don't need to worry about me. You see . . . I want to tell you . . ."
"Tell me what?" I asked.
She changed her mind and smiled suddenly. "I'm getting wet again. Wanna see?" She lifted the jacket a few inches, allowing me a quick peek. Then she kissed me quickly on the lips, and we continued walking.
When we arrived at the Riverside Park, a clock on a nearby church chimed three times. We sat down on a bench and relaxed for a while.
I looked up into the night sky, above the lights of Metropolis, and the sky was velvet black. I looked for the moon, to see it reflecting back the sunlight even at nighttime. But the moon was gone.
Then Linda yawned and rested her head on my shoulder. "That's where the panther escaped from," she said, indicating the zoo a short walk from the park.
I nodded. "Is that why you wanted to walk here? To see where the panther came from?"
She shrugged. " I guess I just wanted to understand what happened to Pam, what she went through, but this doesn't help. I mean, the panther didn't even do it. I guess I'll never really know."
"I guess not. You can never really understand what anyone goes through unless you walk in their shoes."
"That sounds like something O'Neil always says," Linda said, suddenly standing up. "Common, lets go."
"Go? Go where? What does O'Neil always say."
"He says that you have to go to the crime scene to understand the crime. You have to walk in their footsteps, and see what they saw."
I stopped dead in my tracks. "I don't know about this Linda. This sounds . . . dangerous. And you aren't exactly dressed . . . at all."
Linda ducked under my arm and urged me forward with a smile and a yawn. "Well, you'll be there to protect me if we run into trouble, right?"
"But it's four miles away," I whined.
"Please!" she whined back. And off we went.
When we had walked only two miles, Linda could barely keep her eyes open. And her fragile happiness was beginning to show cracks.
"Are you sure you want to do this tonight? Maybe I should just take you home so you can get some sleep."
Linda shook her head, smiling weakly. The playfulness in her walk was gone now. "No, I’m sorry. Let's keep talking a while. We're almost there, anyway."
"Why are you so curious about how Pam died?"
"I just am. It just doesn't seem real to me, that she's gone. It's hard to face it. And maybe I can learn something that will help catch this bastard!" she said with a sudden venom that stung me.
But as the minutes passed, the weight of her sorrow and exhaustion was too heavy, crushing out her anger and sapping her strength. She held on to my arm for both emotional and physical support.
We turned a corner and stopped in our tracks at the end of an alley. The alley where Pam died. The alley where I had taken the life of her friend.
"Oh . . ." Linda cried, shivering, afraid to go on.
I consoled her, telling her everything was OK.
She summoned an ounce of strength, maybe feeding off the few rays of starlight. "I'm sorry, I'm OK. I'm just . . . really tired. Come on."
I followed her down the alley, into the shadows -- away from the artificial lights of Metropolis and into the true darkness of night. I followed her into a place that was all too familiar. A place where last night I met a woman about Linda's height, and as full of life and passion and pain, and who coincidentally wore the same perfume. Calyx, I think. Linda and I saw the traces of a chalk outline on the broken pavement, and sensed the fetor of rotting blood.
Linda's eyes were wide with horror, as the reality of Pam's death hit her all at once. She literally flew about thirty feet down the alley before crashing into a trashcan and landing on her ass at the bottom steps of a fire escape.
When she looked up, I was standing above her, just a dark silhouette.
"I'm sorry Jim, I didn't think it would hurt this bad," Linda cried. "Pam couldn't forgive me. . . And now she never will."
Linda was sprawled out. Her jacket was laying open, exposing her body to the night. Her purse was hanging upside down from the fire escape railing, with her red cape falling out to the ground. And just under her lip was a tiny cut. A drop of blood, rolling down her chin . . .
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, but part of her knew. She could see it in my eyes. She could feel the emptiness, hypnotizing her, erasing her pain, comforting her, just like hundreds of women before her. It was a vampire's power. It was our gift.
But she could also see something human, something that she brought out in me. She could see my desire for her, not just for her blood and her life but for who she was.
"Take me far away from here," Linda pleaded, as she inched her ass up the steps of the fire escape, her pussy blooming in my face, glistening under the streetlights. I climbed up the steps after her, until she laid still at the first landing, her legs hanging over the edge. "Please take away all this pain."
I kneeled between her legs. She buried her fingers in my hair, as I spread her pussy and slid my tongue deep inside her. "Oh!" she cried out, and her chest thrust forward, when my growing teeth glanced against her clit. I squeezed her ass with both hands, my claws digging into her skin, breaking the barrier. Linda's powers were all but gone, now. I could almost taste her blood through the fragile skin of her pussy, as fragile as a rose petal.
But Linda pulled on my hair, urging me up her body, until we were face to face. The cut on her lip was now streaking blood down her cheek.
"Please don't stop this time," Linda begged, as she undid the button on my jeans, and she kissed me full on the mouth.
My whole body convulsed when I tasted the blood on her lips and tongue. It burned like fire, yet it soothed a pain I didn't even know I had. I knew I couldn't stop this time. I needed her too bad. I needed to possess her.
I kissed her hard on the lips, searching her mouth with my tongue, while Linda searched my jeans with her hand, until she freed my dick.
I plunged inside her, crashing with her cervix. She would have cried out if I hadn't stolen her breath. I thrust again, but she was ready this time, and when I came in again, her hips rose to meet me.
We tried to kiss, but our lips kept missing, and we needed to breathe, so we continued the dance cheek to cheek.
Then our bodies locked together for just a moment. The vast distance between us . . . between a woman who loves, a child of the sun . . . and a man . . . no, less than a man, who was born of darkness, and who thought he could not experience love. That distance was bridged.
Linda threw her head back as I came hard inside her, filling her with my emptiness, exploding all her pain into oblivion. . .
. . . while I attacked her throat like a wild animal tearing down it's prey. Her blood flooded my mouth, stinging like a tonic and sending wave after wave of pleasure to my brain. I closed my eyes and for a moment that lasted somewhere between a second and an hour, I felt like I was in paradise.
I thought I heard a crack of thunder. I thought I saw a flash of light. But I must have imagined it. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.
And then I was back on Earth, standing over Linda's body on a web of steel wires and bars.
I tasted her bitter sweet life on my tongue. I caught one last glimpse of her eyes before they closed. I could hear her heart pumping furiously, yet there was so little blood left in her to pump. And then it just stopped. Was her soul was already gone, swallowed up in the night? Where was she now? In Heaven?
I choked on her blood and cried out loud. I reached down to the ground and grabbed her cape. I covered her face. Yes, she must be in Heaven, or else I could never forgive myself.
Hell could not keep her. She would be like a flower growing on barren soil, just as she gave love to my barren soul. But if Hell has claimed her, then I must rush to her side. Oh, my love, I would follow you anywhere!
I felt a slight burning on my skin, and I looked up into the sky. There was a halo over the horizon. Dawn was about to break. I would not hide in the shadows this time, or behind walls. I would face the light.
And I will see you again soon, my dear Linda . . .