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The girl took a few deep breaths and looked around. To her right she could see a kitchen. She walked forward and entered. Neat and tidy. Shiny chrome appliances, a small table with a checkered tablecloth. Everything in its place. The smell of baking in the air. She walked slowly through to the adjoining living room.
Her Captor lay on the floor, blood trickling from a head wound. A hammer lay nearby. The living room was bright and homely. Saggy floral sofas, an overflowing bookcase. A huge white cross hung above the fireplace and music played faintly on an old radio. A song she vaguely recognized. Something about a Mr. Blue Sky.
“Here you go.”
She turned. Her Rescuer had returned. He handed her a pair of jeans and a jumper. They looked big and matronly. Of course. They were her Captor’s clothes.
“These are grown-up’s clothes,” she said. “I can’t wear these.”
He frowned again. And then something seemed to click. “You have any mirrors down there?”
“No. Why would I?”
“You’ve been here a long time.”
“I know, but I’m not like her. You said I’m like you.”
“You’re a vampyr. Time slows for us, but it doesn’t stand still completely.”
He took her arm and led her back into the hall. A mirror hung on the wall beside the door. He nodded toward it.
“Go on. Don’t believe the old wives’ tales about having no reflection.”
The girl stared at herself in the mirror. A stranger looked back. Not a girl. A grown woman. Slender but tall. Ridiculous in the flimsy dress which barely reached halfway down her thighs. And her hair. She had always thought it was lightest blonde. But now she could see it wasn’t blonde. It was white.
“Are you okay?” her Rescuer asked. “I thought you knew.”
She reached out a hand and touched the woman—the old woman—in the cool glass. Then she turned and strode back into the living room.
She heard her Rescuer shout, “NO.”
But it was too late. She picked up the hammer and smashed it into her Captor’s head, again and again, until her skull was nothing but a mush of gray and white matter oozing into the floorboards.
The girl paused, breathless but filled with a sudden sense of invigoration.
“What the hell?” Her Rescuer strode over and glared down at the mess on the floor. “You stupid bitch.”
He swung his arm and slapped her across her face. The girl reeled backward, gasping in shock. Even her Captor had never struck her.
“You realize how much shit you’ve got us in. Fuck!” Her Rescuer glared at her. “I only saved your ass cos we’re short on female company. You’d better pay me back good for this.”
The girl stared at him, wide-eyed. “I will. I promise.”
“Damn right you will.” He grabbed her hair. “Me and my friends, we been apart from our colony a long time. We’re hungry—and I mean real hungry.” He smiled, all ugly teeth and bad breath. “We’re gonna pump you so full of cum it’ll ooze out your goddamn eyeballs.”
And the girl realized her mistake. This wasn’t her Rescuer. This was just another Captor.
She raised the hammer and swung it into the side of his skull. He stumbled backward. She swung the hammer a second time and a third, a fourth, savoring the ache in her arms, the soft squelch of his disintegrating brain. Once her (former) Rescuer’s head was simply a nasty, lumpy stain, she took a hefty kitchen knife, dug out his heart and stabbed it into tiny pieces; raw, wet morsels.
She wiped a bloodied hand across her mouth, relishing the irony tang, and smiled.
“Now, I’m okay.”
54
Barbara pulled up outside the Bell house, which looked gloomier and more dilapidated than ever.
“The pickup’s gone,” Tucker said.
