Warning! This is a horror/dark fiction story so may be disturbing to some. There is strong language and sexual situations.
Within moments of stepping from the alleyway on Melrose nearly four hours earlier, he had known that the bitch had abandoned him. Standing there on the street with the human’s blood running down the lapels of his coat in the pouring rain, he had waited like a fool for her to appear, exposing himself to danger, losing precious minutes.
He had naturally assumed that she had taken the Ferrari, wasting more time crossing the rainswept street, pacing past the restaurant for some sign of her before doubling back to find the car parked where he had left it, remembering only belatedly that he had given her the keys.
The clever, scheming bitch!
He had crawled beneath the car on his belly, sliding through the filthy wash of gutter water to reach the tiny magnetic box containing the spare key, wasted more precious moments opening the car, falling into the leather-lined cockpit to start the powerful engine.
He would find her.
Find her and drag her back to the penthouse where he would cruelly rape her until she screamed for mercy, filling her body with his seed, impregnating her with his offspring. Then, when he was certain of her condition, he would chain her up in some foul dungeon, keeping her there in filth and squalor until she dropped his younglings.
Afterwards, he would decide how to kill her.
The black Ferrari had shot forward, tires spinning as it slid out of the side street onto Melrose. He caught a glimpse of the excited crowd of humans beneath the shelter of the restaurant canopy, had seen the tall woman with the long dark hair pointing hysterically toward the alley.
The bitch! The filthy bitch!
He had thrown the heavy car into the next side street, opening the window and sniffing the air for some scent of her. Without the car, he was certain, she could not have traveled very far….
That had been hours ago, and though he had cruised the darkened streets in an ever widening circle, he knew that she had slipped past him, the heavy rain suppressing all traces of her distinctive scent. When it became clear that she was no longer on the streets he had driven back to the rundown neighborhood where he had found her before, the place where she had claimed to have made a kill. The shabby garage was dark and empty, the small apartment above it dark….
He lay on the black sheets of his sleeping platform, having returned to the penthouse to remove and burn his gore-encrusted clothing; to wash the blood and filth from his body. The lust was in him now, an urgent fire that exceeded the worst hunger he had ever known, and it was difficult to concentrate on anything but the smell and the feel of the bitch as she had writhed beneath him. The lust followed a proscribed cycle, he knew; a cycle that would last for many days now that it had been unleashed, constantly demanding release, and making it doubly hard to attack the problem of finding her.
He moaned, rolling over to bury his aching member in the cool sheets. There were other problems besetting him, as well. The woman the bitch had let live, the humans gathered before the restaurant who might have seen the black Ferrari skidding onto Melrose from the side street…
He must gather his wits about him.
Getting painfully to his feet, he made his way to a dusty telephone that sat on the floor in a dark corner of the unfurnished bedroom, and dialed a number. “This is Mr. Barnett,” he said in a voice that was notable for its calm and precisely modulated imitation of the dead man. “I’ll be escorting some business people around the city for the next few days and shall be needing a larger car.” He listened for a moment to the concierge manning the desk in the lobby below. Anxious to please the wealthy and eccentric recluse, the man suggested a large Mercedes.
“No, a domestic sedan will be fine,” said Straight Razor Dan. “Please have it delivered and left in the garage beside my Ferrari.”
Satisfied, he broke the connection and stared at the telephone in his hand. Now that he had once more acquired a safe means of travel he must do something about the woman, April.
He considered the problem for several moments, standing frozen in the dark corner. The ache in his loins was maddening…. He tried to dismiss the pain, concentrating his attention on the woman and it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps there was a way to solve two of his most immediate and pressing problems in a single brilliant stroke. Pressing his pale fingers against the Touch Tone buttons of the telephone, he dialed the information operator.
April Strysik was an absolute wreck. She had spent hours in the dingy confines of the Hollywood Police Station, looking at fuzzy mug shots, filling out reports, answering the questions of the cynical detective who had obviously sized her up as some sort of visiting hooker.
She had kept the story as simple as possible, frightened by the blond girl’s warning, and seriously doubting that anyone would have believed her if she had told the truth anyway. She and John, a stranger she had met in the bar at Scatters, had left the restaurant in the company of another couple–Yes, officer, the same couple the parking attendant had seen. No, officer, the parking attendant was mistaken. I was with the tall man. The blonde girl was with the other gentleman, the one in the dark glasses. Yes, I believe she was also wearing dark glasses.
They had walked no more than half a block when a shadowy figure had stepped from the alley and placed a knife at John’s throat, ordering them all into the dark passageway. The other couple had fled. She had fled too, hiding out in a doorway until she felt sure the mugger had gone–No, officer, as I told the officer on the scene and the first officer I spoke to here and, if you will recall back about ten minutes ago, yourself, I do not know the full names of the other couple. Danny and Debbie, or something like that. We had just met them. No, I do not know John’s full name either. Perhaps he had a wallet. Have you checked? I am trying to be cooperative. You, however, seem to be overlooking the fact that I am the fucking victim here…. No, I do not believe I could identify the attacker, I was too busy running barefoot for my life down a dark and filthy alley. No, as I believe I also mentioned eleven or twelve times earlier, I will not be leaving the city for the next few days. And yes, you may reach me at the Sunset Hilton. Now, do you think it might be possible for me to get a ride back to Scatters where my rental car is parked, since it was you who insisted on dragging me down here when all I want to do is go back to my hotel and take a hot shower and have nightmares for the next twenty-four hours about the severe psychological trauma I have suffered while a visitor in your lovely city? Thank you so very much for your kind consideration. Have a nice day, jerkoff.
Tottering dangerously on the scarred remains of the black Italian pumps the police had retrieved from the alley–eighty-nine-ninety-five on sale at Robinsons the day before– she twisted the key in the lock of her door and stepped gratefully into her dimly lit hotel room.
“I will never be bad again,” she groaned, falling onto the blessedly soft comforter atop the queen-sized bed and wondering whether she had the strength to wriggle out of her ripped and muddy clothing, much less make it into the bathroom for a shower.
“I’m happy to hear that, April!”
She craned her neck around in slow motion, her pupils dilating in horror. Daniel, the upper half of his pale body streaked with blood, stood regarding her from the shadows of the open doorway connecting her room to the one being shared by Shelly and Joyce.
“You!” Her voice was a hoarse whisper in her throat.
He cocked his head, bright predator’s eyes gleaming yellow in the reflected light of the bedside lamp.
“I told them nothing,” she said. “I made up a story about a mugger….”
“Thank you,” he smiled, revealing his hideous teeth.
“Please don’t kill me,” she begged.
“I promise,” he said, stepping into the light.
April tore her gaze from the gleaming teeth to stare at the grotesque deformity suspended below his waist. Despite her terror, she heard her own hysterical giggle ringing in her ears. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she whimpered.
“No,” he said, advancing on her, “only humans can do that.”