A Kim Bennett Novel
Norm Applegate
Copyright © 2009 by Norm Applegate
All rights reserved.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.
ISBN-10: 0-9822530-1-x
ISBN-13: 978-0-9822530-1-4
Applegate, Norman
Blood Bar/ Norman Applegate - 2nd Edition
Blood Bar
Also by Norm Applegate:
Fiction:
Into the Basement
Into the Spell
Anthologies:
From the Shadows
Screenplays:
Into the
Basement
(co-writer, w/Nicholas Grabowsky
Acknowledgements
To my wife Cheryl, who once again has taken this dreamer and turned his words into reality. Surrounded by so many friends in a world that can be so so painful let me take this moment to thank everyone that has encouraged me with their thoughts, support, and emotion. A few friends I want to make special note of are my mentor and best selling author David Hagberg, international horror author Nicholas Grabowsky, film director J.L. Botelho, and Kym Wilde.
All the best
Norman Applegate
October 11, 2008
For Kevin and Dylan, can’t wait
‘till they’re old enough to read this!
BLOOD BAR
Norm Applegate
-Chapter 1-
“I just killed you.” Erin leaned forward and placed a hand on his thigh. She glanced around the room and moved toward his ear. If anyone was watching it looked like they were kissing. She was warm. He was cold. She gave him a light kiss.
“Not feeling well? Problems swallowing, a bloody nose, you feel like death?”
Confused, Drach, a young role-playing vampire, was focused on every word she was saying. His face flushed. He wiped the sweat from beneath his hairline with the back of his left hand.
“What's happening? Say something to me! What did you do?”
The look on his face changed. Twitching, blinking, he couldn't breath. He undid the top button on his shirt. His head was spinning.
"What the hell,” he continued. "Talk to me, I didn't do anything…"
Erin leaned back. Sat quietly, a smirk on her face. She watched panic sink in before answering him.
At two in the morning, in a small half-hidden club in the Lower East side of Manhattan, The Haven resembled any other typical meeting place for a group of locals from the neighborhood. Maybe a trendy bar for the young and hip. Maybe a place to be seen. But not a blood bar. Only a modest glowing neon sign above the front door with the word vamp in red suggested that the renovated brownstone was an underground club for vampire role-playing and gothic-garbed men and women.
A metallic taste in the mouth was the first sign. The second was excessive saliva production. A splattering of crimson hit his arm when he coughed. Nobody noticed it, but as Drach sat at the bar he felt it. A trickle of dark moisture wormed its way onto his lip. He brushed at it, warm, wet, red. Glancing down, rubbed it between his thumb and fingertip. He lowered his white hand. It was swollen, bloated like an animal carcass. He had to hide it. Hide the blood. Drach chose his pants, wiping his fingers on his leg.
The room was moving, his eyes were rolling, his throat felt raw. Shredded. He knew this was bad.
Murder is easy to spot. Especially if it's bloody. But poison isn’t. Cyanide has a bitter almond taste. It stops cells from using oxygen. Enters the blood stream quickly. Drach thought he was suffocating. His abdomen cramped. Pain shot through his stomach like something chewing at him, it burned.
He had to get out, fresh air, away from Erin. Staggering off the bar stool, he felt unsteady. Dizzy. Then the third sign kicked in. Shortness of breath. His heart was racing. His eyes couldn't focus. Everything in the room went blurry. He reached out to balance himself. He grabbed for the nearest body. A female shoulder.
Erin smiled, “Scary isn’t it? Makes you wonder about life, death. Where you'll end up for eternity.”
She looked down at her watch. "Well,” she continued, “it's getting late. Time to go. You ready?"
Drach shook his head, his tongue twice its size and coated with froth made speaking difficult. His temples pounded. He felt a thud in his chest, he panicked, “Oh Christ, what have you done?”
Drach tried to speak, but Erin raised a warm finger to his lips. “Shhhhh, don’t bother.” The twinkling of her eyes, smile on her face and sweet tone were eerily out of place.
Erin Roberts was an attractive Irish girl from Bayonne, New Jersey, and at five-four and one-hundred and thirty pounds she appealed to most men. Her short red hair accented her flawless smooth skin, full lips and captive smile. Wearing a black dress that clung to her flat stomach and feminine curves, she was ready for an evening of doing the devil's work.
She reached out and poked at his pink skin. His cheeks. His lips, his neck. Oxygen was staying in the blood but not making it to the cells. Erin was surprised at how quickly he was dying and pulled him across the floor. “Follow me. A girl has to be careful leaving the clubs. You never know what kind of shitheads you'll run into.”
Drach, feeling the effects of trickery and well beyond salvation, had no strength to resist. His right leg was numb. His foot was tingling. He dragged it along and followed behind her struggling to recall what happened.
“She is a donor, I accepted her gift, it doesn’t make sense.”
Taunting him, Erin looked over her shoulder and smiled, “Some fresh air Hon?”
His eyes were sore, bulging in his head. He mumbled something. By all appearances he was intoxicated and his date looked sexy as hell. No one would recall seeing him leave and no one would suspect Erin of murder. Pretty girls don’t do that.
They walked out the front door onto Avenue C. Erin shoved him. Her hand sat on the middle of his back. Drach felt it. She pushed him again. He stumbled along the sidewalk. She was impatient. There wasn't much time.
They walked two blocks. Sidewalk was busy. People were moving toward them. Two couples, laughing, joking. Erin put an arm around Drach and pulled him toward her. They moved past them, nobody looked. Turned right into a small dark alley. There was lots of trash. It was quiet. Drach could make all the noise he wanted. They moved further. It got darker. Surrounded by garbage, boxes and some old discarded furniture, they entered a loading area. Big steel doors. The cramping got worse. He staggered against the red bricks of the brownstone. Started to slide down but caught himself. Drach was dying.
Hunched over with his hands on his hips and vomiting, the pain forced him to his knees. Drach’s stomach tightened into a hard knot. She picked him up.
“You stupid ass," she said. "You're wondering why I did this, aren't you?”
Drach asked himself the same question and for a brief moment his mind cleared. He suddenly realized he had let himself be trapped by a good-looking girl and feverishly attempted to stumble away.
“Your kind killed my father.” She walked beside him. Pushed him. He vomited. She looked behind to make sure they were alone. Pushed him again. He slammed into the wall. She slapped the back of his head, “And I’m going to get every one of you bastards.”
Drifting in and out of consciousness, Drach glared at Erin, his eyes followed her hands as they reached down to remove a razor ring from his pocket. He was barely breathing and close to death.
With a grin on her face, Erin admired her painted fingernails for a few long seconds, twisted the metal knife onto the third finger of her right hand and made a fist. It was tight. “Do you know what I’m doing? I mean, do you have any idea what I'm going to do or is all this just too much for you?”
Drach, his face now bright red had an awkward expression. He was familiar with the ring. Knew what it could do to. Knew it could carve tissue. But couldn’t imagine what was about to happen next.
Drach didn't answer. She pulled his head back. Jerking it hard. Close up he looked puzzled. Not with it. Erin tilled his head. Exposed his neck, studied it, looked at it. The shiny metallic surface of the ring caught her attention. It would look good dangling from a chain around her neck, she thought.
Finally he managed to cough, “Why me?”
Erin moved close to his ear. She grinned, “Because you play with vampires, you idiot.”
He didn't answer.
Raising her right arm, she drew back. She swung. Felt the razor cut him. A cavernous gap opened up halfway between Drach’s collarbone and his chin. It sliced his neck. He stood still. Shock. She could see the white of his esophagus. Blood flowed out. His eyes blinked rapidly, his mouth shot open. She cut him again, more blood. And again. A sudden gush of blood erupted. His carotid was severed. He dropped to the ground and bled out in seconds.
Erin watched him thrash about as the color drained from his face. She stood above his lifeless body. Kicked his chest. He didn't move. She kicked his face. He didn't move. Her eyes followed the trail of red. It pooled under his head and on a discarded newspaper, The New York Daily News, and she knew what tomorrow’s headline would read. “One dead, poisoned and slashed.” It was then that the reality of the kill hit her, and she realized that stopping at one wasn’t an option.
Erin Roberts walked alone out of the alley and into the city. Her arms were swaying at her side. A smile was on her face and no one gave her a second look. She had become her father, Happy Roberts, a man who never smiled a day in his life except when he was killing somebody. Today she was killing vampires. Now more than ever her thoughts centered on the blood bar..!
-Chapter 2-
Kim Bennett crushed a cigarette under her leather shoe, entered the Pacific Medical Center on California Street in San Francisco and scanned the crowded emergency room looked for a place to sit. Despite staying up half the night boozing too much and playing night games, she still managed to hit Starbucks and get there early.
It was 1:00 PM and a perfect day for a hospital visit. A brief late morning rain shower had socked the city in tight with grey clouds and a heavy mist that hung around the tops of the buildings.
The cool blue fluorescent lights were flickering as the waiting room filled up with crack addicts, junkies and whores looking for something to numb themselves further than they already were.
On the other side of the room, on Kim's left a young hooker yelled. She was annoyed. Climbed up onto a chair. She was tall, somewhere between five-eight and five-nine and she was thin. She was yelling. Kim couldn't make out what she was saying. Her voice was loud and getting louder. A competitor chimed in.
"Shut the fuck up! You're giving me a headache….all you ever do is bitch," the prostitute yelled. "The only time your mouth should be open is when you're making money."
Kim glanced at the woman. They looked at each other. Saliva was drooling from between missing teeth. Her left eye was all beat up, colorful, black and a deep shade of purple. She winked at an old man making an attempt to profit from a quick moment of pleasure.
Kim looked in the other direction toward a white tiled hallway. Nurses were taking their time as they moved from patient to patient. Kim could tell by their expressions they were tired. Tired of seeing the same old shit day after day. Kim looked down another hallway. In an emergency makeshift bed, a man shivered. He wasn't cold. It was shock, exposure. Blood dripped from a facial wound of torn flesh, he moaned as his heartbeat slowed. It was the cold embrace of death pulling him from his wife and child to a lonely existence in a wooden box beneath the earth.
Mumbling under her breath, “The health crisis in this country is out of control,” Kim threw an empty coffee cup into the garbage can and missed. "Shit," she said to herself. Nobody was watching, nobody cared. She walked over, picked it up and slammed it home the second time.
Kim knew the place well. Last month while waiting to be called for blood work, she witnessed a mother and daughter getting bad news. Her husband, a lawyer had been burned. For some people a common accident. But not for a lawyer. He was black, crisp, charcoal like. Someone with a can of lighter fluid and a match went to work on him. Most burns only affect the skin. But some go deeper. Large burns can be fatal. His was the whole body. Burns are classified into three groups. First degree, are red, minor burns. Second degree, cause blistering and scaring. Should be seen by a doctor. Third degree is when the skin is gone. May require skin graphs. In the lawyers case there was a fourth degree. It's not a technical term. But describes burns that involve the muscle and bone. He was disfigured, twisted. Infection is the major complication in burn victims. But the lawyer was dead before anyone had to worry about that. Not having the chance to hold and comfort him in his last breaths, his wife cried when she saw him. Kim crossed the floor, reached out and put her arm around both mother and daughter. The daughter reminded Kim of herself, something about the way she held onto her Barbie.
Kim walked away from the hooker and looked for a place to sit but had to settle on leaning against a plate glass window. It was raining outside. She fumbled in her purse, reaching for an illuminated blue light. She pulled her cell phone out.
“Hello, hello Kim, we haven't spoke in awhile, it's me Rose.” It was late morning east coast time in New Jersey and Kim sensed trouble.
Kim stayed cool. “Are you alright kid?”
“No." Rose paused, "I need your help.”
Kim felt the hair on her arm come to attention. She liked Rose Nicholls. They had bonded during an ordeal in Tampa, fighting a hypnotist and a copycat Son of Sam murderer. She also met Rose's boyfriend Drach at that time.
“Slow down," Kim said. "What's going on?”
“He’s gone. Rose paused. "It’s over.”
The next words Kim heard surprised her. “Drach is dead.” Rose couldn’t have been more to the point than if she poked her in the eye and before Kim could answer, Rose hit her with another, “I’m a suspect, I don't understand, who could have done this?”
Kim was about to ask the same thing, it seemed wrong. In fact, Kim’s immediate thoughts were someone is messing with this case if they think it’s her, when Rose cried out, “I didn't know who to call. Why is this happening to me?”
That was an even better question. Kim had briefly met both of them and knew Rose was not a killer. In a strange way, Kim could feel her pain. She had been through enough of her own battles with death and heartbreak to know it always comes as a shock when someone close to you dies.
“I know you didn’t do it,” Kim said. “How can I help?”
“I don't know. I mean, I need you,” Rose forced out. “I have nobody.”
Kim raised her arm and glanced down at her Patek Philippe. There was still time to catch a plane. She knew where she was going next.
“I’ll be there tonight.” Kim took a deep breath and shook her head. "Man….shit can just happen, can't it? I’m at the hospital right now, and when I’m finished I’ll head to the airport.”
“You okay?” Rose asked.
There was a pause. "Yeah I'm just looking for a cigarette."
"No I meant the hospital, are you okay?"
“Of course, it’s a blood thing, something about my red blood cells.”
“Contagious?” Rose asked.
“No.” Kim realized that Rose was over reacting. “They're bigger, carry more oxygen, just different. Something like that,” Kim said.
“Vampire?” Rose said to herself, but Kim heard her.
“Please.”
Kim was feeling uncomfortable talking about her health issues and shrugged it off. She wanted to say, “Don’t be stupid…vampires aren’t real,” but with Rose’s current situation, insulting her wouldn’t be right.
Rose thought of herself as a vampire. She drank blood, but was human, and when Kim first met her, she quickly recognized what Rose was, a role-playing vamp and a seductively hot one at that.
“I just thought.”
“So," Kim interrupted, "You thought what?"
“The first time we met." Rose got quiet. "How things happened so fast.”
Alluring and seductive, Kim was drawn to her, became her donor and from the first bloodletting, felt it. What Kim didn’t know was there was a name for it: awakening.
“That’s how things happen with me.” Kim smiled.
In Rose’s late teens she was turned. She was different, and her initiation began with vivid dreams and images of gory feasts of blood and sex. Her body became wrought with ghost pains that imploded like a cattle prod through her veins, nightmare sensations eased only by the nourishment and energy of blood. After that, Rose accepted what she was, a blood-drinker. Born Rose Nicholls, she was mortal, avoided the sun and garlic, but was not bothered by either. She liked pretending they were dangerous to her health and would never eat Italian food.
Kim realized there was no delicate way to ask, “How did it happen?”
“Poisoned,” she whispered. “And cut."
“Be careful." Kim turned away from the waiting room and cupped her hand over the phone. "Do you have a place to hide?”
Rose was quick to answer, “My father’s house. I haven’t lived there in a long time. I don’t think anybody knows the place.”
“How about a phone?” Kim asked.
“Yeah, write this down.”
For an instant, Kim thought about explaining her ability to memorize numbers effortlessly but decided against it. “Just give it to me. I’ll call when I’ve landed.”
Rose’s eyebrows formed a wrinkle; she was surprised, but rattled off the ten digits anyway.
From an early age, Kim had an affinity for memorizing numbers and if bored or nervous she counted letters when someone spoke. Kim flipped her cell phone closed, stood in the emergency room and wondered why she was so different from everyone else.
Being a Madame in San Francisco, Kim was very successful and had a clientele of both men and women who wanted nothing more than a professional to inflict pain with their pleasure. Skill in the edge play of S&M helped Kim survive after her world changed when she was abducted, taken into the basement and tortured by two of California’s most gruesome killers. From that moment forward, the notoriety from solving those crimes catapulted her into a life she never expected.
When her name was called, Kim looked straight ahead as she walked toward the nurse’s station. The creepiness of all this blood talk had gotten under her skin. Her eyes shifted to the title on the nurse’s white jacket, Phlebotomy. She recalled that it referred to the ancient practice of bloodletting.
-Chapter 3-
In the East Village of Manhattan, Erin Ann Roberts entered the front door of The Haven, scanned the club to see who was inside and at eleven thirty in the evening was looking forward to an after hours party.
The room was small. A crowd of people had filled the booths, tables, and the bar. They were overflowing onto the floor space. The club, held one hundred and fifty people. It was built in the eighteen hundreds with dark wooden beams that showed their age. In the corners, dripping in dust were cobwebs and shriveled flies. The bar, a highly polished maple hardwood with a black glossy finish, long and narrow, supported an array of characters from the Goth to role-playing vampires. Stuffed into the room surrounding it, leather bound chairs and tables obscured by dim lighting.
Blood-bars are rumored to be underground vampire clubs that are very secretive, difficult to find and within the vampire community are known to have willing donors who crave a blood bond. The erotic attraction between a donor and a vampire. Some claim it’s orgasmic, some dispute it, but most know it to be true.
The Haven has had its share of celebrity-types over the years. Most notorious, Dr. Mik Tenneb, a prime suspect as Jack the Ripper before escaping to America. His name, although uncommon in most circles, has not been forgotten in the vampire world.
Another unusual character was Louis Moreau, never indicted, never convicted, however, he was implicated in the disappearance of three young prostitutes whose mutilated and disfigured bodies were found floating in the fog-covered East River.
The circumstances have been lost over the years, but it was reported he was last seen alive the night before a coffin was put on a steamer and sent to France. Rumor has it that he was resting comfortably inside.
The term vampire began in the 17th century with Eastern Orthodox Christianity, which had very specific burial rites surrounding the soul, the body and death. If the funeral rites did not meet the proper conditions, it was believed very bad things happen to the dead and they would rise to form a marriage of gore between the living and the lost. It was these nightmares and dreams surrounding the recently departed that stirred fear and terror within some religious people. Particularly in the small towns and villages of Eastern Europe. People began digging up graves because they were afraid and they performed their own horrific acts of safety by decapitation and introduced the stake to the world of vampire hunters. The word vampire is derived from a Slavic term and they were thought to be the hungry dead coming back to feed.
Erin made her way across the old wooden floor, silently taking her place against a barstool. She adjusted the apron around her waist and looked for her favorite customer.
Erin Roberts was the daughter of a Jersey City thug, known as Happy Roberts. His death, although it may have been well deserved, left Erin with an obligation to fulfill: get even with the people who were responsible, and as unpredictable as coincidences are, Erin knew where the guilty came to indulge.
As a blood doll at The Haven, she had gained intimate information about the murder of her father, and in the process had bonded with one of the most powerful vampires in the city, Nicolai Avelli.
Nicolai saw an opportunity in Erin. She was worth controlling and claiming as his property. Eventually she became more than just a donor. He could use her however he saw fit.
Opening the high stiff collar of her dress. She undid the top two buttons. With her neck exposed, she sat alone and waited for his presence. She kept her eye on the front door.
Erin saw a man enter the bar. He moved like no one she had ever seen before. Graceful, but masculine. He was dressed in black Gothic clothes. His face was white with a black jacket thrown over his shoulder. He moved out of the shadows and quickly toward her. Beneath the subdued lighting, the smoke-filled air added an eerie quality to his entrance. She caught a glimpse of his profile moving swiftly through the room and instantly he was beside her.
“Nicolai,” Erin whispered, looking into his eyes, “I’ve missed you, you drive me crazy. I've got goose bumps.” Then leaning up to him she whispered in his ear, “Are you hungry?” She was nervous, excited with anticipation, and loved him.
His presence was captivating. Tall, thin, dangerously handsome and had a compassionate face. He was an older man who had the respect of his peers and followers.
“You’ve been busy,” Nicolai said. “No one needs to speak, for I hear their thoughts. Apparently my dear, you have been very, very naughty.”
“Killing is hungry work.” Erin smiled as she fanned out her collar further to reveal a defined cleavage with tiny scars of passion.
Without removing his eyes from hers, he opened his mouth, his thin moist lips parting, porcelain white teeth appeared and Erin recognized the smell. With a deep breath she prepared herself.
“Move toward me, tilt your head, I’m feeling greedy; give me all of you.”
She allowed him full access to her neck, and feeling his teeth graze against her skin, the seduction of his lips engulfed her sending a pulsing current down her spine. Nicolai found the spot.
Erin shook her head. “I love this,” and moaned, reminding Nicolai she was his. He watched a trickle of blood surface on her skin, made contact with his lips and began to feed. Her body collapsed, arms dangling at her sides as her pulse slowed and between short gasps of air her cravings were satisfied.
A moment later Nicolai lifted his head and Erin caught sight of his red stained teeth; she had been bled by a vampire.
“Close your eyes and drift, I’m going to place your head and arms on the bar.” Erin looked like a drug addict on the nod. Semi-conscious, her mind drifted. The narcotic effect was similar to an opiate, colorful dreams and romantic visions seductively played to her light-headedness.
Nicolai inched closer to her face, gracefully and tenderly, his moist tongue lingered on her skin as he moved up to her lips. He kissed her softly and took in the fragrance of her hair, slowly their eyes met. In the plum-colored hue of The Haven, Nicolai planned his next moves.
“What do you know about the Black Testament?” he whispered.
“Nothing,” Groggy, Erin slowly answered and then added, “But I can find out.”
“No need.” Nicolai was amused with how naive she was. “The original way of the vampire was written by Jack the Ripper.”
Erin repeated, “the Black Testament.”
Nicolai smiled. “The doctrine was written to lay down the rules for vampires, so we could live in society.”
“Blend in.”
“Exactly.”
“Where is it?” she asked.
Nicolai sat in the warm darkness of the night, ran his tongue over his teeth and let his mind begin the search. He was feeling powerful, he knew who possessed it and wanted it at any cost.
Nicolai looked into her eyes. “A document this sacred has its rightful place in history and in the guarded protection of those who will covet it for eternity.”
“And you’re telling me this...why?”
"I’m going to ask you to help me with one more person.”
“Yes sir,” she obediently said.
Nicolai’s large bloodshot eyes scanned the bar, gave a tired smile and then he thought to himself.
“My whole life has prepared me for this.”
-Chapter 4-
Kim Bennett pulled out from the Pacific Medical Center parking lot in her black BMW. She blew the high-pitched horn in quick bursts. Thumping her fist against the steering wheel. Warning the pedestrians she was in no mood to wait. It was a few minutes before two in the afternoon. The cool air being warmed by a California sun that peeked out from behind white billowing clouds. It shrouded the Golden Gate's rust colored paint drying the pavement from a morning sprinkling of cool ocean rain.
Her initial thoughts of returning to a murder so soon after being involved with the FBI in Tampa created a mental picture of a life destined for pain, and then she remembered there are two kinds of pain, one that brings pleasure of the purest form and one that takes away the purest form of pleasure.
Just yesterday, having drinks outside on the Embarcadero near Pier 49, in a small but stylish bar with a minimalist motif, she was in a heated discussion with Billy Kennedy, a former john and now boyfriend, on how she had no plans to leave the city for a long time to come.
She said nothing to Billy at the time, but her drinking wasn't covering the nagging suspicion that something was on the horizon and it was eerily reminiscent to the deaths she had seen in the last few weeks.
At fifty two, Kennedy was a well built man who saw the inside of the gym every day not only to maintain the superb condition he was used to during his days as a marine, but to keep the edge required as a former hit man. He was five foot eleven, one hundred and ninety pounds, he was blonde, smooth-skinned and knew women found him attractive. Kim had once said his soft blue eyes and the way he kissed her neck were a major turn on.
After returning stateside from sorties that took him to Western Africa, Afghanistan and the Middle East, he retired from the military but couldn't escape being an adrenalin junkie which led him to take an offer as a gun for hire. Little did he know that it required a stomach of alcohol to accept that killing women was okay. His last assignment in Colorado, taking out an embezzler of casino profits, forced him to come to grips with his reality. He couldn't pull the trigger to murder a husband and wife and in that fateful moment his life changed. It was the last crime he would commit for the syndicate.
Nightmares, some good times, mostly bad memories, he was forced to the depths in his ocean of darkness and could not forget the people he assassinated for profit. All the targets were rank and file who had done someone wrong, at least that's what he told himself. Although it never helped in those evenings of waking up in a cold sweat, reliving the evil and wishing for the pain to disappear, his salvation was a woman.
Kim was the best thing that could have happened to him. In his moments of guilt her talents of humiliating games of S&M cleansed his conscience.
A few blocks away from the medical center, Kim dialed Billy on his cell phone hoping he would answer immediately. "Hey babe, how did the tests go?" he asked, a boyish Texas drawl to his voice.
"I drink too much, have tennis elbow and need to stop smoking, but the Doc says I look good," Kim told him. There were several other tests she never told him about and all of them were focused on her blood.
"That won't change," Billy said.
"I'll see if I can turn south paw on you next time I use the flogger."
Traffic was opening up as Kim headed south of the city.
"I need to fly out tonight, have to go to Manhattan."
"See? Things don't change." Billy's tone was a little more harsh. "I thought you were giving this a break for awhile. Take some time off and travel for a year, maybe sell everything, do some writing and hit the road. Just you and me."
The highway was empty and her exit was approaching.
Kim accelerated into the turn, pushed back against the leather seat and gripped the steering wheel with her right hand sending a slight pain through her elbow.
"Well?" Billy repeated.
Kim smiled at the approaching red light. "That's the plan," she said.
Billy shook his head and placed his hand over the phone so nobody would hear him. "Bullshit, you get that deep voice when you lie." He turned his back to the table next to him. The restaurant was a small bistro and people were listening to everything he was saying.
"Someone needs my help," Kim said.
A tall thin woman with black hair came to her mind, Rose had a look that appealed to Kim.
"Somebody always needs you," Billy said, "Is she pretty?"
"This time it's different. Rose, who you met in Tampa, is caught up in a murder."
Stopped at the intersection, a couple of panhandlers came out and approached her car, sprayed her windshield and began wiping it clean. She rolled her side window down, thanked them with a couple of dollars, and flashed the peace sign.
"She's a friend, I need to help her." Kim pulled away and was headed for home. "I don't have much time, my flight leaves in two hours."
"What about us?" Billy said, his voice low and muffled by his hand.
"I'll just be a few days," she promised, "See you by the weekend."
"Alright you know the plan."
-Chapter 5-
Rose Nicholls stood tall among an anxious crowd waiting for passengers beside the Delta luggage carousel of LaGuardia airport. An older man was gawking at her and from a different angle his teenage son was admiring and fantasizing a similar thought.
A grime stained vinyl-tile floor, light green walls, acoustic white ceiling tiles, the baggage claim reeked of sweat and foreign cigarette smoke mixed with the pungent aroma of mustard and steamed kosher hot dogs.
Rose ignored the bus fumes as she elbowed through a line of turban dressed taxi drivers. The contrast of her jet black hair against her half-shaved head gave Rose the appearance of a black and white B-movie zombie about to devour the living. At five-ten, rail thin with the exception of her stout breasts, Kim spotted her as she stood beneath a sign that read “baggage claim.” Her long black hair hung down and covered one side of her face, and she was dressed in tight black jeans, heels and red lipstick, a true vamp by definition.
As Kim descended the escalator at LaGuardia airport a few minutes after eleven in the evening. She carried a duffel bag over her shoulder and succumbed to a rising temptation and threw her arms around Rose. She gave her a passionate hug. Kissed her on the cheek. Then Kim caught a slight fragrance of patchouli oil reminding her of the smells of Haight Ashbury.
“Nice look,” Kim announced, "Truly you."
“Nobody notices shit here, it's New York,” Rose shot back. “I could probably walk around half naked and still not get frisked.”
Glancing around, Kim saw everyone’s eyes were on them. “Really?”
“I should have left the fangs in.”
“No way, tell me you don’t.” Kim knew Rose considered herself a vampire, but the question still remained, how much of it is real, how much role playing. She wondered if Rose understood that the tools used amongst early man might have accelerated the evolutionary process of eliminating the need for large sharp teeth.
Kim decided it wasn’t that important, it’s all just a game anyway, when it comes right down to it.
They maneuvered onto Highway 278, the city was only eight miles away, but Kim was immediately reminded why most of the cars in New York are scratched and dented. Even at this time of the evening the roads were crowded. Vehicles sped past them hitting their horns and snaking their way ahead of one another. They were one horn blast away from road rage.
With Rose driving, Kim was struck with the sparkling lights of the Manhattan skyline, and in the crisp air they twinkled like stars against the dark silhouettes of the buildings. As their van approached the city, a historic structure came into view.
Kim’s attention was fixed on it. “Brooklyn Bridge?” she asked.
Rose smiled, “I’ll let you in on a little secret about the bridge," she paused and looked in the rearview mirror. "Here's something that nobody knows.”
Kim had glanced at a map while walking through the airport and with her uncanny ability to commit details to memory she recalled that John Augustus Roebling designed the Brooklyn Bridge in the 1860’s. The twin gothic-style arches soar 276.5 feet above the East River and with a span of 1,595 feet, connect Manhattan to Brooklyn.
“I like secrets, do tell,” Kim said. “But make it good, and if it's really juicy I'll give you one of mine. Lord knows I've got a lot to share.”
“I bet you do," Rose grinned. "Hey, the official word on the guy, I don’t remember his name but...”
“John Roebling.”
“Who?” Rose asked.
“That’s his name.”
“You’re good," Rose was surprised with Kim's knowledge. "Well the guy that designed this shit, died of tetanus, he got cut on something, something that was at the site.”
Rose was feeling proud of herself, she had inside information. “But here’s the dirt. What gave him tetanus wasn’t a rusty nail." She looked over at Kim and raised her eyebrow. "He got bit by something.”
There was silence as Kim visualized the bridge being the site of a grizzly murder.
“It’s like a castle,” Rose said looking over at Kim.
Kim looked at the stonework. She was right….it did have that feel to it. Dungeon came to mind, and with that, the thought of Drach being murdered. Kim could not help but feel sorry for Rose. It was questionable if he was involved in something criminal, but he was Rose’s friend. To be faced with your partner’s murder is one thing, but to be accused of it, incomprehensible.
Crossing the East River, Rose took a deep breath. “We’re in the city.”
"How did you come to that conclusion, it all looks the same.”
Rubbing her nose, Rose made a gesture. “I smell the money.”
“I’ll pass the word; I didn’t know it smelt like that.” Looking down at the brown dark water, Kim missed the salty air of her Northern California bay.
When they reached the corner of Bowery and Delancey Street, Kim couldn’t help but think of three names, Bugsy Siegel, Meyer Lansky and Lucky Luciano, all from the Lower East Side, and all gangsters. Most tourists never see the brick tenement buildings of the Bowery for one simple reason; it’s the perfect setting for evil people doing evil things in the night.
Breaking the silence, Rose spoke. “I’m going to drive by the club.”
“The club?”
“Yeah," Rose spoke in a low tone, "The club where it happened.”
“Did you love him?” Kim asked. "Did you really love him?"
“He was my friend.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Rose looked away. “He was good to me, but he had a dark side," Rose paused for a moment. "Shit, that’s what attracted me to him. I could have loved him, but I knew it wouldn’t last. Do you know what I mean?”
Looking over at Kim for a response, she realized even after traveling all day from the west to the east coast, Kim was a beautiful woman. Her long brunette hair hung down around her shoulders, a strong but feminine jaw line and high cheek bones gave her that sexy look. It was no wonder Kim attracted both sexes. As the occasional passing car’s headlights lit up her face, Rose was drawn to Kim’s emerald eyes that were seductively powerful.
“You said you're a suspect?” Kim asked. "I mean, why you?"
Rose took a deep breath. “He was my lover, and there is something else.”
“What do you mean?”
Rose tried to hide her fear but Kim saw it. “I’m being followed and not by the police.”
Rose reached out and held Kim’s hand, then cleared her throat. “I need you, you’re tough and have been through this kind of shit before.”
Kim didn’t want to think about what Rose had just said, but she was absolutely right. She had been through this before and both times it almost killed her.
Kim remained calm. “Trust me, we’re in this together. I won’t let you down.” Rose abruptly jumped in, “There it is!”
As both women stared, Kim knew what had to be done. “Stop," Kim said her tone hard, "Pull the car over.”
Kim could see the surprised look on the faces of a group of men as they squealed the tires and slid to a stop on the moist pavement barely lit by an amber tint of street lamps that were badly in need of an upgrade. The street was lined on both sides by small, closed stores and in the dark leaning against a wrought iron hand railing, two silhouettes glowed periodically in red as they inhaled and passed an illegal substance.
Surprised, Rose stuttered. “What do you mean?”
Kim turned sideways, calmly glanced at her and raised her eyebrows. “We’re going inside, my dear.”
Rose whispered, “But…it’s the blood bar.”
-Chapter 6-
Kim Bennett felt a throbbing in her neck. Not a normal pain. Something deeper. Like someone poking away at her insides. They approached the front door and entered the darkness of The Haven. She was not sure what to expect, but as they walked in Kim knew there would be no going back. She had crossed the threshold into the underground world of a very well kept secret.
“Is this place as mysterious as the name sounds? When was it built? What year?” Kim asked.
“All I know is that it was before the Brooklyn Bridge was built,” Rose whispered. “An old story goes that before the turn of the century this was a whore house for the workers who dug the secret vaults and tunnels in the bridge. Some say Jack the Ripper lived here.”
"Really," Kim said as she pushed through a mob of Gothic dressed freaks, mostly young men watching a woman demonstrate her bedroom talents by simulating an unusual fellatio skill of not gagging as she pushed her fist deep into her oral cavity.
“What do you know about the Ripper?” Kim kept walking but kept her eyes on the girl's throat and was sure she could give her a run for her money. She recalled her own notoriety when at fifteen in the boy’s bathroom in high school she discovered she was absent a gag reflex, and after that never absent of boyfriends.
“Not much.” Rose was caught off guard. “The same shit as everyone else I guess.”
“Did you know the name Jack the Ripper is an alias? It was taken from a letter to the Central News Agency in England by someone claiming to be the murderer,” Kim stated.
“No shit.”
“Oh yeah, and like the Lower East Side of Manhattan, there’s a district in London known as Whitechapel. It all started in 1888, when the first of five prostitutes were murdered.”
“How do you know all this shit?” Rose asked.
“I’m smart.”
Intelligence, Rose believed, was an ugly trait. She had grown up in the city and most of what she knew she learned on the street. She suffered at the hands of many girls smarter than she was and would be damned if she could ever be friends with any bitch who was brighter then her, and Kim was starting to sound like one of them.
Kim took a few steps and recalled more.
“Here’s something else. The combination of an unidentified serial killer and the savage brutality of the attacks have kept the legend alive.”
“Yeah I know," Rose said, "But how exactly did he kill them?”
“Sliced their throats.” Kim glanced at Rose, there was no reaction. “Mutilated the bodies and in some cases the face.”
Rose kept a stern look. “That’s brutal.”
“It has been speculated that the victims were strangled first, you know, to silence them.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Interestingly,” Kim stopped for a moment, looked right at Rose and pointed below her chin. “Some believe they were suffocated by a crushing bite to the neck and the marks removed by the slashing of the throat, and as you know it had been rumored that some of the internal organs were removed.”
“I never heard that before," Rose said, "Wasn't it a doctor?”
“Maybe, but what was never explained was the lack of blood at the scene.”
“Christ, you’re like an encyclopedia.”
Kim shrugged her shoulders. It was no big deal. She followed Rose through the crowded room of Goth-dressed creeps of the club, but for some uncanny reason Kim was not disturbed by the company around them. As far back as Kim could recall, she was always top in her class. An unusual combination of being gifted but flawed with a hormonal driven addiction of fucking a lot of men, she accepted her differences and thought it suited her well as a dominatrix. There was no one in her profession that could explain the first, second, and third laws of thermodynamics.
Before she could say another word, Rose ducked into a booth with a clear view of the bar.
Rose Middleton grew up in the Heights. Overlooking Manhattan, where Jersey City is most notorious for its crime and mobsters. But there is also an honest and conservative population in the city. At twenty-eight years old, Rose had a childlike heart that welcomed those she met. With a passion for painting, she entered Jersey City State College as an art major but before graduating, she was swept up with an avant-garde group of actors and artists that traveled around the country.
The waitress approached their table, “What would you ladies like to drink?”
Kim turned her head to hide her grin, “A Bloody Mary.”
For a moment, Kim thought Rose didn’t get it, but she was distracted. Distracted by a group huddled around the bar.
The room was unusually calm, soft smooth jazz, no big screen TV and everyone’s voices were muffled. But there was a major issue with the floor. One of the young Goth chicks had been walking to a back table earlier in the evening when between the wooden planks a sticky mud-like syrup oozed to the surface with a putrid smell. Her platform shoes became glued, right foot slipped out, and down she went onto the tacky blood. The bartender had spent the last hour sopping up the gum.
After a few minutes, Kim turned and saw the young waitress returning. She was snaking her way around tables and maneuvering through groups of people with a strut that had a purpose to it, strong and direct.
Kim was prepared to introduce herself when she was surprised by the woman’s smile. “I haven’t seen you here before.”
Kim extended her hand toward the drink, felt herself being consumed by the woman’s gaze, and nodded. “Kim and Rose.”
Smiling at Kim, the woman spoke. “My name’s Erin.”
In her mind Kim was counting letters, “eleven,” she said to herself, “a prime number.”
They watched as Erin walked back to the bar. Intrigued, they were both thinking the same thing, but Rose spoke first. “She likes you.”
“Jealous?” Kim smiled.
Rose tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Drink up, the evening is still young,” Kim declared.
Without warning, the expression on Rose’s face changed. “This was the last place he was seen alive,” she whispered.
Looking around Kim asked, “So what goes on here?”
Rose’s soft features were now gone. Tears filled her eyes and she shook her head, “I had only been here a couple of times, Drach liked it but this is a dark place.”
Kim turned to Rose, “I’ve heard rumors about blood bars...are they true? I mean, are they real?”
“Do you want to find out?” Rose suddenly had an evil look on her face. “You like games?”
Kim laughed, “I’m a professional, what do you think?”
“Did you ever play truth or dare?”
“If I recall, that’s how I lost my virginity.”
“Well pick one, and don’t be chicken.”
Without hesitation Kim accepted. “I never back down from a dare.”
“Follow me,” Rose said. Without waiting for an answer she raised herself from the table and made her way to the bar.
Kim tossed back her drink, stood up and realized this was a side of Rose she had never seen before, but liked.
“I didn’t know you were so Nazi.”
Rose turned and looked over her shoulder, “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”
“Ditto,” Kim said.
Her animal instincts kicked in, and for Kim there was nothing better than sexual tension between two women. She liked playing games and found few women could dominate her the way she liked. Often becoming bored, she would take over the reins, lead them to sharing their secret desires and fantasies and punish them with a bare hand spanking for being a bad, bad girl. Kim's personal favorite, to be humiliated by a sadistic woman that was her enemy. For Kim, there was nothing better than a jealous broad taking her frustration out on her ass. Kim's sultry eyes slowly worked their way up Rose’s legs and from behind the view was delicious.
“Do you know what’s next?” Rose asked.
Kim wasn’t listening; she was busy counting...16, 17, 18…
-Chapter 7-
Kim pulled a chair out, slid herself onto it and sitting at the bar, studied the place. The soft lights, heavy purple drapes, the power of control in the air and around her a small group of men and women in black dress were watching them.
Rose slipped a razor ring onto her finger. Their fascination grew wicked. Heads turned in obvious amusement, and Kim felt a warm sensation come over her. Rose felt her mouth water.
“I dare you.”
“Very well.” Kim knew what to do next.
“There.” She exposed her swaying breasts, felt the cool air against her rubbery nipples and leering eyes all over her.
Rose’s voice broke her concentration, “It’s not too late to say uncle.”
“Then what?”
“Run in fear the rest of your life, always wondering what the blood bar is all about.”
“I don’t run.”
“Then I dare you not to flinch.”
“Test me,” Kim said, "Really test me."
Rose shook her head and smiled, “You know what you’ve become, don’t you?”
“A donor...”
“Not just a donor, you are my property,” Rose said.
Everyone’s attention was diverted toward the look on Kim’s face. Her eyes shot open. She felt the cool metal press against her skin. The whole blade was buried. Kim looked at Rose. She looked at the blade. Blood was running. The razor shimmered in the light. She looked back at Rose. Her hand was steady. Rose carved a slit under her right breast. Their eyes met, it burned. Kim's chest was on fire. She bit her lower lip and drew blood as she felt the sharp metal slice her skin.
The moment the blade penetrated, separating the plumpness of her skin, Kim’s mind came to attention. She was so well conditioned in her role as a submissive that her body instantly released a flood of endorphins.
"Cut me," Kim said, "Make me hurt."
From the thin wet wound, droplets of blood emerged which became a slight trickling, then turned to the familiar gore-red syrup worming its way over her ribs.
At that precise moment, Nicolai crossed the room. As swift as the wind and just as silent, he positioned himself at the far end of the bar. His ice blue eyes were hidden behind dark recesses until he raised his angular chin and in the obscurity of the room, he met Kim.
“Is it burning?” Rose lowered her head toward Kim’s breast.
“Fuck yeah.”
“This will take it away.” Her lips made contact, receiving the gift and the room filled with the odor of raw iron.
A fiery sensation ran through Kim’s veins. The emotion was overwhelming and cradling her head, Kim pulled Rose tight into her body. The urge to be bled peaked with a soaring pulse rate as Kim, panting for air, reached out and cupped her breasts. The heightened sexual frenzy of anticipation had Kim moaning with pleasure. She arched her back, felt a warming sensation run through her stomach, squeezed her thighs together until they throbbed and felt her face slowly flush sinfully.
Drugged from the embrace, Kim looked down the long shiny length of the crowded bar. Lust was in the eyes of every man and woman watching Rose feed, and at the end of the bar Kim locked eyes with the vampire and couldn’t let go.
Nicolai smiled his approval, slowly nodded his head and felt the beast inside explore perverse thoughts. The two of them never lost eye contact, and while everyone was studying Rose, Nicolai studied Kim.
Seconds turned into minutes and felt like time stood still as Rose nourished. “I love the feeling of blood gushing down my throat,” she said. In her rapture, she was able to control the craving before draining Kim of too much life, and lifting her head up for air, she kissed her on the lips. Instinctively Kim responded.
In a lust-induced state, Kim’s body began to shut down, the dizziness took over, her eyes began to close, then Rose placed Kim’s head on the bar. With her mouth open and thin drool seeping out, Kim’s half- closed bedroom eyes remained fixed on Nicolai.
“I love you,” Rose whispered into her ear. “It’s all good, let yourself dream.”
Vibrant colors flashed before her eyes, feeling no pain and dancing to the thoughts of making love to the devil's thrashing as he rode her like a dog, she drifted in and out of reality.
Erin Roberts was working the floor, preparing drinks and watched the whole episode play out until distracted by Nicolai’s focus. Between the passion she felt for him and the embrace between the girls, Erin was more than curious about Kim.
As the evening wore on, Kim began emerging from her stupor, and stared into space for a moment, thinking about all she had been through, and then she remembered where she was. She looked up, rubbed her eyes and watched the room slowly come into focus.
“That was as close to an orgasm as I could imagine,” Kim said with a sultry tone that brought a smile to Rose’s face.
“I missed you.”
Brushing her hand through Kim’s hair, Rose looked at her and smiled. It was the signal Kim needed; she reached over, kissed her on the lips and eased her tongue forward as she accepted the invitation of her open mouth.
“I feel really close to you right now,” said Rose.
“Hold me.”
“Your skin feels cool, you okay?” Rose asked.
“Yes,” Kim responded immediately, “I’ve been here before.”
What Kim was referring to was the bond that develops during an intense S&M edge play. The high experienced from this, combined with the mental submission of giving yourself to someone, is infatuating.
Rose smiled, “They call it a blood bond.”
“I like it,” Kim whispered.
Rose understood. She had found satisfaction in being both a donor and a consumer. “Still feel weak?”
Kim’s face had lost all color and Rose was right, she was weak. “Yeah, it’s a strange feeling.”
“Not your cup of tea?” Rose inquired.
“Contraire mademoiselle, give me a drink and I’ll go again."
“Now do you believe in blood bars?” Rose asked.
Before she answered, Kim realized all around her were groups of two, three and as many as five people feeding off one another. It was a decadent orgy of the most sinful kind. Strangers meeting at a hidden- away bar to engage in blood play.
Kim looked peaceful, and turned to Rose, “I like this place.
-Chapter 8-
Kim felt a spiritual connection with Rose as they walked out of The Haven. They crossed the street, jumped into her van, and leaning back in the seat, closed her eyes to absorb everything that was happening. Her mind was consumed with thoughts of attraction, something she didn't expect to develop between Rose and herself so quickly.
It was twelve-thirty PM as they entered the Holland Tunnel for Jersey City. Kim felt chilled to the bone and shivered. “I’m cold,” as she rubbed her naked arms with both hands.
Glancing over at her, Rose turned the heat on, and caught a reflection of Kim's distant expression outlined in the tinted passenger window. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing really." Kim was having difficulty swallowing, her mouth felt like sawdust baking in the Nevada desert. "Just that lately I haven't been feeling right.”
Rose smiled, “Shit, it’s starting.”
“What is?”
“Your awakening.”
“Nonsense. You think I'm becoming a vampire?" Kim answered through her clenched jaw, "Don't start with that shit."
There was dead silence in the car until they left the dark hollowness of the tunnel and drove into Jersey when Rose had to say something. She knew it had begun and couldn't wait any longer. “You’ve been awakened. Drach said you could be one of them. Just need to drink some blood. You know to get it started.”
“You're talking out your ass again.”
“I know the feeling, what else could it be? With that look on your face I can tell that you are doing some soul searching.”
Kim looked at her, “What are you a friggin doctor all of a sudden?"
Rose shot her a glance and raised her eyebrows.
The awakening Rose was referring to is often thought of as puberty, vampire puberty. It is the mental and physical changes the body goes through to becoming a full-fledged demon that lives on the constant edge of twilight. Triggered by an event like tasting blood for the first time or being bled, an awakening is a process of learning who or what you are. For some it’s a life long journey, others know immediately.
“The symptoms are unmistakable,” Rose said.
“Symptoms, you make it sound like a disease.”
“You know what I mean.”
Kim hesitated for a moment. “Things like a blood craving?" and added, "And psychic ability?”