Jeanie Writes Genre

International Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Day, continued. In case you missed it:

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5


CHAPTER 11


But Leslie only stared, mesmerized, as a black leather shoe appeared beneath the SUV's door and settled in the sand. It was draped by a tailored black trouser cuff. An identical shoe appeared next to it, and they both moved forward to reveal a man in a long leather car coat that was--wait for it--black. His dark hair was slicked back Bella Lugosi-style, and he looked down his pointy nose at them and smiled. It was not a friendly smile.

Jake's stomach went cold as recognition sucker-punched him. "That's him, Leslie. That's the guy."

"What guy?" They both spoke in a hushed, panicked whisper.

"What guy? The son of a bitch who killed Ramirez, that's what guy."

"Really? I thought you couldn't remember what he looked like."

"I couldn't. But that's definitely him."

The passenger door opened, and a more feminine pair of black-clad feet emerged. Jake went even colder as the FBI agent who had interrogated him appeared and moved to stand next to Wannabella. Son of a.... "Leslie, we have to go. Now."

"M-maybe they just want to talk."

"Yeah. They ran us off the road so they could have some friendly conversation. Will you drive already?"

Leslie stepped on the gas. The engine revved and the tires spun, and sand kicked up behind them as they went nowhere. "Oh God," she whimpered.

"It's okay," said Jake.

"How? How is it okay?"

"We just need--" A thump on the hood of the car cut him off. The coyote stood there, fur ruffed and teeth bared as it looked in at them and growled. "You got me," said Jake. "We're screwed."

"Right," said Leslie, and paused. Then, "No. Screw this." Her voice lost all traces of fear, replaced by a tone of commanding anger. Her eyes flashed as she stared down the coyote. The animal didn't budge at first, but it stopped growling and laid back its ears. Finally it ducked its head and tucked its tail and, with a whimper, jumped down from the car.

"Um," said Jake. "H-how did--"

"I'm taking care of this," she said.

"You're what?" Concern for her safety snapped him out of his wiggins. She opened her door. "Leslie, don't--!"

"Stay in the car," she ordered, and he found himself paralyzed with a need to obey. "Well?" she asked, getting out and blocking the other vampires from Jake's view. Or vice versa. "What do you want?" She locked the door and closed it behind her. Able to move again, Jake cracked the windows so he could hear.

"You haven't killed him yet?" asked the woman. Agent Bacani, Jake remembered. Then he thought, Yet?

"Killed who?" asked Leslie.

"Your servant," the man replied. His accent was straight up Chicago, and he sounded every bit as much the smarmy bastard as he looked. "They don't usually survive a first feeding." He leaned sideways to peer around Leslie at Jake, and smiled. Icy prickles made their way down Jake's spine. "I didn't expect this one to make it out of the ambulance."

His blood went cold. That's it? That's why I was left alive? To be a vampire starter meal?

"Okay, A," said Leslie, "he's not my servant. Well, I guess technically he's my employee, but that's not the same thing. And B, I don't eat people!"

Bacani snerked. "Yeah," said Smarmy Bastard. "And I've got a great tan."

"I don't!"

He started to circle Leslie, sizing her up. Jake decided to take advantage of the distraction to get off his ass and do something. He grabbed the motel blanket out of the back seat, then, quietly, opened his door and slipped out. "I've seen your type," Jake heard Smarmy say as he crawled toward the back of the car, dragging the blanket with him. "You can't deal with what you've become. Haven't figured out yet that you're above the precious humans you're so afraid to kill. So you try to satisfy yourself with animals, or with cold plasma stored in bags." He laughed. "It doesn't work, I can tell you that right now. You need human blood, straight out of the vein. Anything less, you're gonna waste away to nothing."

Jake paused, waiting for Leslie's reply. But none came.

"You can already feel it happening, can't you? Your cravings getting stronger, your body getting weaker."

"No," said Leslie, unconvincingly.

The smarmy bastard laughed again. "Oh well. Sooner or later, instinct will take over and you'll feast on the first poor sap you see."

"Will not," she said.

You tell 'em, Leslie, thought Jake as he spread the blanket under the car and tucked it under the rear tire. He got on his belly and scooted underneath to reach the other tire. Hopefully the blanket would provide enough traction to get them out of there.

"You will," said the man. "So save yourself some trouble and come with us. We can make this whole thing a hell of a lot easier for you."

"Go where?" she asked.

"Home. The Master sent us to get you. He's got a place all prepared. You can even bring your serv-- heh, I mean, your 'employee'. He was supposed to be your practice dummy, but I understand if you've gotten attached. These things happen."

"Let me get this straight," said Leslie. "You want to take me home to the 'Master,' who sent you to stalk me for him? Why, so I can take up wearing black and treating people like cattle and my friend like a pet? So I can live the monster cliché?"

Under the car, Jake smiled.

"The black is optional," snarked Bacani. "It wouldn't look good with your coloring, anyway."

"Oh, yeah?" said Leslie. "It just so happens that I look amazing in black, thank you very much."

"Then it's settled," said the man. "You're coming with us."

"No I'm not."

"I think she thinks we're giving her a choice," said Bacani. "You always confuse them like that."

"I think Leslie understands me just fine," he said. "But it never hurts to use visuals."

Jake didn't like the sound of that. Time to get back on the road. He shimmied out from underneath the car and got to his hands and knees. A growl greeted him from behind. He liked that sound even less. Slowly, he turned to see the coyote in its aggressive stance, watching him. All right, don't panic. "Shhh," he soothed, inching toward the car, careful not to make any sudden moves. "It's okay. There's a good boy. No need to attack Jake and rip his throooh shit!"

The coyote lunged.

So did Jake. He dove inside the car and slid across the seat, then sat up, turned to grab the door, and screamed as the coyote came at him. It knocked him onto his back and pinned him there. Jake got an arm up between his throat and the animal's mouth, and it latched on, teeth ripping painfully into his flesh as it shook his arm like it was a small animal. Jake had been trained in how to fend off a vicious dog attack, but his training never covered what to do in close quarters, and none of his maneuvers worked to get the thing off of him. Desperate, he groped the floorboards for something--anything--that he could use as a weapon. His hand brushed the beer cooler. He slid it open and grabbed a can of beer, shook it, held it up to the coyote's face, and popped the tab. Beer exploded right in the animal's eyes. It let go of him with a whimper, shook its head and pawed at its eyes, but it didn't get off of him. Jake grabbed one of the steaks and dangled it in front of the coyote's nose until he got its attention. Once he had it, he threw the steak out of the car. The coyote followed. Jake sat up and pulled the door shut with his good arm. Then he scooted all the way back against the driver's side door, closed his eyes, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Behind him, the window shattered. Jake instinctively hunched forward and tucked his head under his arms. "Leave him alone!" he heard Leslie scream, just as something grabbed him by the hair and hauled him out through the window. Hollering in pain, he grabbed the arm that pulled him to keep his hair from getting yanked out. The arm felt delicate and feminine and not like an arm that could drag a grown man around by his hair. Fucking vampires and their fucking vampire super strength.

Bacani threw him at Leslie's feet, where she stared down at him in horror. "Jake, I'm so sorry." In the glaring light of the SUV's headlights, it was easy to see the tears filling her eyes. Jake struggled to help himself to his knees, ignoring the stinging in his scalp and the throbbing in his arm. Bacani clamped a hand on his shoulder, not letting him rise further. "Get your hand off of him, bitch," Leslie growled.

Bacani snorted and left her hand right where it was.

"Now," said Smarmy, coming to stand beside Leslie, "here's what's going to happen. You're going to drop this nonsense about not being a killer before it gets you hurt and draws attention to our kind. You've got a nice, juicy meal right in front of you. Take it, and we can all go home."

"I won't kill him," Leslie insisted.

Smarmy sighed. "Fine. Sure. Maybe. Tell you what. If he survives, we'll bring him with us."

"As what," muttered Jake, "a walking doggie bag?" Bacani boxed his ears. "Ow! Son of a--!"

"Quiet," she snarled.

"Don't do that again," Leslie warned her.

"He can't be allowed to survive," Bacani went on, ignoring her. "He knows too much. He could turn me in."

Turn her in? Jake laughed. "What, you mean you're a real FBI agent? I didn't figure that until you opened your mouth, you dumb bitch."

"Shut up!" Bacani backhanded him and sent him sprawling in the dirt. He landed on his bad arm, the pain there roaring back to life.

"If he survives, he won't have the free will to turn on any of us," said Smarmy. "Now come on, Leslie. He's already bleeding to death. No sense in it all going to waste."

The bastard was right, Jake realized as he climbed back to his knees. The coyote had torn his arm down to the bone, and it had taken a while for the blood to start flowing. But now it ran down his wrist and hand and dripped steadily off his fingers, pooling in the dirt beside him. He was starting to feel lightheaded. He'd bleed out if he didn't take care of his wound soon. Cradling his arm, he wrapped it in his shirt tail and tried to apply pressure, but the shirt was soaked through in a matter of seconds. "Shit."

"I told you," said Leslie, speaking to Bacani and ignoring everyone else, "not to hit him again."

Bacani rolled her eyes. "What are you going to do about it?"

Leslie slugged her. Bacani's head snapped back and her hands flew to her nose. Backing away from Leslie, with tears and fear filling her eyes, Bacani took a martial arts stance.

"Careful!" Jake warned Leslie. "If she's really FBI then she's got training on top of all that vampire strength!"

"Vampire?" Leslie scoffed. "She's no vampire."

Jake sighed, and sat all the way down before he swooned. "This is a really bad time for you to be in denial!"

"Look at her!" said Leslie, advancing on the agent. "Her nose is bleeding. I think I broke it." She stopped and sniffed the air. "And is that fear I smell?" She pointed accusingly at Bacani. "You're human!"

"I can still kick your newbie ass," Bacani snarled, then aimed a kick at Leslie's head. Leslie ducked it effortlessly. Bacani might be strong and well trained, but her speed was no match for Leslie's. She blocked and evaded every punch and kick that came at her. And she almost looked bored doing it.

Jake looked up at Smarmy, expecting him to run to his partner's aid. But the bastard just stood there, watching and grinning. If he was human too, Jake might be able to take him. Granted, he'd stand a better chance if he could actually stand without the whole world turning over and dumping him back on his ass; but it was now or never.

Carefully, taking slow, even breaths to manage the dizziness, he gathered himself into a crouch. Then he lunged, aiming a tackle at Smarmy's midsection. It landed, catching him off guard and knocking him off balance. Next thing Jake knew, he was body slammed on the hood of the DeSoto with an iron vice clamped around his neck.

"Now that was just stupid," said Smarmy. Oh, that wasn't an iron vice. It was Smarmy's hand. Jake clawed at it as he struggled for air. Above him, the other guy's eyes glowed like burning embers as he drew his lips back to reveal inch-long fangs. Jake closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable. Strangely, all he felt at his impending death was irritation at the stupidity and uselessness of it all. And at the vampires. Especially at Leslie, for getting him into this whole mess. He'd be angry, but he just didn't have the energy. Hot breath covered his neck as fangs pressed against his skin, and irritation at last gave way to fear. Please, not like this, Jake pleaded silently.

"Davis!" screamed Bacani.

The vampire's head snapped up and he relaxed his grip on Jake. So, Smarmy had a name after all. With a lot of effort to stay conscious, Jake turned his head to see what he was looking at. Leslie stood there, holding Bacani by the throat in a death grip, oblivious to her struggles. Her eyes glowed, same as Davis's, but with the angry look on her face and the night breeze blowing her hair around she looked beautiful and badass, like some kind of avenging angel. Jake's heart skipped a beat at the sight of her. Or maybe that was just all the blood loss.

"Let him go," Leslie commanded, "or your girl here gets it."

"So what?" Davis shrugged, but even so he took a step back from Jake. "I can get another."

Bacani's face managed to look terrified and murderous at the same time. "Davis, you son of a bitch!" she croaked.

Leslie also looked disgusted. "What she said. Also, you're a pig."

Davis chuckled. "Don't you get it? They don't matter, not to us. Come on, Leslie. Don't you want to know how you got to be like this? Don't you want to know why?"

"Not really."

Davis's smile faltered. "Okay. Then how about what you can do? Or what about the thirst? It's constant, and it's only going to get worse. Don't you want it to stop?" Leslie licked her lips and swallowed. Davis's smile broadened again. "I can help make it stop, if you come with me."

"Thanks, but I'm still going with no." With that, she threw Bacani at Davis, hard enough to knock them both into a heap on the ground.

Jake tried to sit up, but the car spun beneath him and the edges of his vision went gray. A pair of arms picked him up and chucked him into the car before he could even register what was happening. Somewhere far away a door slammed and a motor revved. He felt movement, but he didn't know whether that was the car or his head. "I'm dying," he mumbled.

"No you're not," said Leslie. She also sounded far away.

"Am too." The gray around his vision turned black and closed in. "Damn it."

"What?"

"Shoulda... shoulda kissed you first." Then he was out.



CHAPTER 12


He wasn't dying. Once she was sure they weren't being followed, Leslie pulled over and dressed his arm the best she could in shredded strips of motel sheet. She stopped the bleeding, and his heart never even slowed down, the drama queen. Now he lay in bed in another dingy motel room, albeit one with better carpet and less invasive wildlife. The décor was slightly more up-to-date, too, if not necessarily better. It looked like an English garden threw up all over the place.

Leslie sat in an overstuffed rose-vomit chair, watching infomercials and waiting for her hair to dry. Every now and then she'd hear a mutter or a moan from Jake and look over, only to find him sound asleep. She was contemplating how much she could use a set of Ronco knives when he mumbled, "I'm alive."

This time his eyes were open. Leslie got up and went over to the bed. "Hey."

"Hey." He squinted up at her a moment, then asked, "What happened to your hair?"

A self-conscious hand shot up to smooth her damp locks. She shrugged. "I always suspected brunettes can have just as much fun as blondes. Thought I'd find out first hand."

"Huh."

"You don't like it?"

"It's... no, I mean, it looks good. Just takes some getting used to."

"Well, don't get too used to it," she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "It's only semi-permanent. It'll wash out in a couple of weeks."

"Good," said Jake. "I like the real you best." Leslie felt a smile rise up from her chest. "But I'll be out of your life by then, anyway," he said, killing the smile before it reached her lips.

"Right," she said, quelling her disappointment and wondering where it came from. "Here." She leaned over and retrieved a bag from the nightstand. "We can do you next." She pulled out a bottle of peroxide.

Jake eyed the bottle suspiciously. "You want to bleach my hair?"

"Duh. They're looking for a blonde woman and a dark-haired man. I thought we'd switch it up on them."

"I'm not bleaching my hair."

Leslie rolled her eyes. "I thought you'd say that," she said, rummaging in the bag. "That's why I bought you this." She pulled out a goofy-looking fisherman's hat, the floppy kind that they hook lures on. Gently, she lifted his head and put the hat on. "There. Now nobody will recognize you. And I gotta say, that's one hell of a sexy hat."

Jake snatched the hat off his head and tried to sit up, but fell back and sucked air in through his teeth when he put weight on his bad arm. Leslie helped him sit up, propping him up with pillows as he eyed his makeshift bandages. "You do this?" he asked.

"Yup."

He nodded. "Not too shabby. Need to be changed, though."

"I'm way ahead of you." She upturned the sack and dumped the rest of its contents out on the bed, revealing packages of gauze and antibiotic ointments. Jake nodded approvingly, then, wincing, unwound the strips of sheet from his arm.

Leslie also winced at the sight of it. That coyote had torn him up pretty good. Jake paused. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. Takes more than that to gross me out."

"No, I mean... you know. All the blood. I know it's a temptation for you."

"What?" She did her best to look indignant. "I'm not tempted." He just looked at her. She rolled her eyes. "Okay, maybe I was, a little, when it was all fresh. I mean, the smell was everywhere, and it would have been so easy just to take a little taste--"

"Did you?" He looked like he was struggling not to look horrified.

"No! Like I said, I was tempted. But I handled it."

"Handled it how?"

She sighed. "I tried your beer and steak juice cocktail."

"Yeah?" Jake grinned. "And it worked?"

"No. It made me throw up. After that I lost my appetite."

"Sounds to me like it worked," he said with a smirk.

"Funny. Not."

The sting of antiseptic wiped the smirk from Jake's lips. "Is there any beer left?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Uh... yeah. Should be a few." Leslie got up to get him one. She popped it open for him, and he downed half the can.

"Wish I had something stronger," he said, eyeing his butchered arm.

"What, like hydrogen peroxide?"

"No, I mean like whiskey." He sighed, then took another long swig of his beer. "I don't suppose you picked up a sewing kit when you got all this other stuff."

"No." She bit her lip, remembering something. "Hang on," she said, crawling over him and reaching for the drawer of the opposite nightstand, forgetting until too late that she didn't put any jeans on after her shower. Hope he's enjoying the view, she thought, her inner voice laced with sarcasm. But when she glanced back, she was disappointed to find him too intent on his arm to even notice. Annoyed, both at his obliviousness and her own neediness, she yanked open the drawer and got down to business. There, poking out from beneath a Gideon Bible, lay a complimentary sewing kit. Leslie pushed the Bible out of the way, then jerked her hand out with a yelp.

"What's wrong?" asked Jake.

"Nothing," she said, sucking on her burned fingers and eyeing the Bible with distrust. Does this mean God hates me now? Carefully, she plucked the sewing kit out of the drawer and slammed it shut. She settled on the bed next to Jake. "Here."

"Perfect. Now thread one of the needles and coat the whole thing with antiseptic."

"Wait. You're going to sew yourself up?"

"No. You're going to sew me up. I'm going to get drunk."

"Excuse me?"

Jake chugged the rest of his beer and set the can down. "Can you get me another one of those?"

"After we go back to the part about me giving you stitches."

"Don't tell me you don't know how to sew."

"I've sewn. I've sewn plenty. But I've never sewn human flesh."

"Just think of it as darning a sock," he told her.

"Okay, that I've never done, either. And this is hardly the same thing."

"Yes it is. Basically." Jake sighed. "Look, I can't do it. I'm too shaky, and there's a good chance I'll pass out again." Leslie studied him. He did look awfully pale, and she noticed for the first time the slight tremble in his fingers. He must have felt like hell. She had to admire the way he kept himself together. "Believe me," he said, "I'd love to go to a doctor for this. I should go to a doctor. Probably have rabies and tetanus and God knows what else. But that's not really an option right now, and we just have to make do."

Leslie shook her head. "I can't do this."

"Yeah, you can. You single-handedly rescued us both from an evil vampire and his scary minion."

"They weren't vampires, Jake," she said with a sigh. But her denial was starting to sound pretty thin, even to her own ears.

"Maybe she wasn't. The point is, you kicked ass back there. You were amazing. If you could do that, you can do this."

I did kick ass, didn't I? "You thought I was amazing?"

He nodded, and a goofy grin spread across his face. "Amazingly beautiful."

This time the smile rose all the way to her lips. But she narrowed her eyes. "You sure you need more beer? Sounds like you've had plenty."

"Don't make me beg."

Leslie went to get the remains of the six-pack. Then she knelt on the bed, facing him, with his arm in her lap. She threaded the needle and disinfected it as he instructed. "You'd better not pass out," she warned. "I need you to talk me through this."

"I'll do my best," he said, his words getting a little slurred. He told her how to get started, then settled back on his pillows and closed his eyes. "Ready when you are."

"Here goes." She stuck the needle through his skin. Jake whimpered a little, and his whole body went rigid. "I'm sorry!" she said. "Are you sure about this?"

"Keep going," he told her through gritted teeth.

She did. After the first few stitches, she shook her head. "This is gross."

"I've seen worse," mumbled Jake. He was fading fast.

"I'll bet you have." Then she pouted. "Poor coyote."

His eyes snapped open. "Poor coyote? Yeah, sure. Poor widdle ferocious animal, having to take a chunk out of my arm."

"It wasn't his fault."

"No. I'm sure it was an accidental mauling."

"I mean I think he was trained to attack, or something."

"Or controlled?"

"Or something."

"You don't think the coyote was also a vampire, do you?" He sat up a little, eyes huge. "Does this mean I'm going to become a vampire?"

"Hold still!"

"Rabies, or vampire. I'm not sure which I prefer."

Leslie sighed. "What is it with you and vampires?"

He looked at her like he couldn't believe she was serious. "Other than the fact that they keep trying to kill us?" He settled back on the pillows, but he seemed a little more awake and lucid now. "You heard that woman. She said I know too much. This isn't just about you and me. They're up to something."

"You are so paranoid," said Leslie, shaking her head.

"You were right," he kept going, "we can't go to the police. I mean, if they've got minions in the FB-frigging-I, then there's no telling how far the corruption spreads."

"Are you listening to yourself?"

"Are you listening to me? Leslie, we're involved in something here. Something big. And I don't just mean vampires. I mean dirty agents accusing me of smuggling human organs and claiming they have an eye witness who caught me red handed. Not to mention having a whole file on you, complete with surveillance pictures."

Leslie bit her lip and said nothing. She knew he was right, but she couldn't deal with vampire conspiracy theories on top of sewing up her first arm. First things first. "Almost done here. How do I tie this off?"

He walked her through it, then asked, "So how'd you lose those creeps, anyway?"

"I didn't. I don't think they followed us."

"Wow. You must have really left them hurting."

"Not really. I think maybe they didn't need to follow."

Jake let out an irritated grumble. "That's it. Tomorrow I'm swapping out that car for something less conspicuous, then we're getting back on the Interstate and high-tailing it to St. Louis."

"Fine by me." Leslie tied off his wound, cut the thread, and sat back to admire her handiwork. "How'd I do?"

Jake inspected his stitches, and nodded in approval. "Not bad. And not too painful, once you got going."

"Good." Proud of herself, Leslie smiled. Jake smiled back, and for a moment they held eye contact. He had a great smile. Broad and slightly crooked, it made his eyes crinkle at the corners in that adorable way. Suddenly self-conscious, she dropped her gaze to his arm that still lay across her lap. Leslie had a thing for hands and forearms, and Jake had a nice set of both, strong and delicate at the same time, powerful without seeming too overpowering. She hadn't paid attention while she was sewing him up, but now she could appreciate the sculpted lines of sinew beneath his skin. She resisted the impulse to trace a line of muscle above his wrist, and tried to banish thoughts of how it would feel to have those hands slide over her body, lingering in all the right places.

"You don't look so good," said Jake, startling her out of her fantasy.

Leslie looked up at him with narrowed eyes. "Look who's talking." His arm had been by far the worst, but it wasn't the only damage he'd incurred. Bruises were forming on the side of his face his neck, and he had a pretty nasty abrasion beside his left eye. She doused a cotton ball with antiseptic and went for it. Jake flinched away, sucking air in through his teeth. "Oh, come on," she said, gently taking hold of his chin to make him hold still. "You could handle all those stitches without any anesthetic, but you can't handle this?"

"It stings," he whined.

"You big baby. Hold still." She dabbed the sore spot, leaning in closer to examine the damage. "Your eye's a little swollen. We should put one of those steaks on it, help it go down."

"Those are for you. When's the last time you ate?"

"Without puking?" She shrugged. "Last night."

"What, that rat at the truck stop?" He tried to shake his head, but she held his chin too firmly. "We've got to figure this out. You need blood. And if there's any way to get you some human blood, then we need to--"

"Ew. Forget it."

"But Davis said--"

"Davis can bite me." Leslie frowned as Jake quirked an eyebrow. "You know what I mean. I'm fine. The steaks are fine."

"You're awfully pale, Leslie. I'm not sure what's the normal shade of pale for vampires, but I'm pretty sure that's not it. You look anemic."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," she deadpanned, tossing the cotton ball and grabbing a tube of ointment. But she did have to admit--to herself, at least--that she felt pretty run down. And all this talk of blood began to inflame her thirst. If she could just hang in there a little while longer, dawn would come and put her out of her misery for a solid fourteen hours. "Look, I'll eat when I'm done with you, okay? Don't worry."

But Jake looked deep in thought. "If we could just gain access to a blood bank... I should have brought my uniform. They're not that different from state to state, I don't think. That would get me in--"

"So you wish you'd kissed me?" Leslie asked, desperate to shut him up.

It worked. He blinked at her. "What?"

"In the car, when you thought you were dying. You said you regretted not kissing me."

"I did?" His ears turned red first, then the blush spread to his cheeks. It was adorable. It also meant his blood was pumping harder, along with a shot of adrenaline, and the combination smelled intoxicating. He grinned, a little sheepishly, which was also adorable. "I, um... I might have been a little... I mean, if I thought I was dying--"

On impulse, Leslie granted his wish. His lips felt firm and warm and pliable, and it was all she could do not to pull his bottom lip into her mouth. But she kept it sweet, and simple, and all too short. "There," she said, pulling back. "No more regrets."

Jake looked shocked. But then his gaze sharpened, his eyes filling with an intensity she hadn't seen before. "No." He touched her face, held it a moment while locking her in place with a look that made her feel stripped bare, inside and out. She knew her heart should be pounding. His was. He tucked her hair behind her ear, then slipped is fingers around her neck, his thumb caressing her cheek. "No regrets," he murmured. Then he pulled her back for more.

She put up no resistance. Her own willingness surprised her as she opened her mouth to his. His good arm slid around her waist, pulling her against him as his velvet tongue found hers. The first stroke felt tentative and shy, but quickly turned bold, even possessive as his hand fisted in her hair to crush her still closer. God, he tasted good. Leslie slipped a hand under his shirt to feel the hardened planes of his chest and stomach. She stroked him, raking her nails through the wiry hair on his chest and making him sigh into her mouth.

Her heart might not be aflutter with excitement, but her body responded in plenty of other ways. Heat ignited between her legs, spreading up and out and filling her with pure want. But she was also thirsty. Her thirst and her desire were so interconnected that she could barely even tell the difference anymore. Maybe she could sate herself this way, satisfy the sexual hunger and control the other kind. If the hardness that pressed against her bare thighs was any indication, Jake wouldn't have any objections.

As if reading her mind he rolled them both over and nestled his hips between her thighs as he planted kisses on her neck. She moaned softly, tilting her head back to grant him better access. His hand found its way under her shirt, echoing her actions a moment ago as it caressed her curves. Rough, callused fingers traced delicate paths over her stomach, then over the mound of her breast before finding her nipple and giving it a squeeze. Leslie gasped. "Jake," she cooed, her voice thick and throaty.

He pushed her shirt up, just high enough to expose her stomach. "So beautiful," he murmured against her skin before kissing the curve of her hip. Then he rose up on his elbows to look at her, as if seeing her for the first time. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Leslie smiled up at him, suddenly genuinely shy. She'd be blushing too if she were able. "You're so sweet," she told him.

Jake lowered himself back down until his face was about a millimeter from hers. "You need me." His voice sounded rough and dirty. "Don't you?"

She closed her eyes. "Yes."

"Then take me."

A shudder of excitement went through her. "Yes," she said again, reaching for his zipper. But before she could undo it he cradled her head and brought her mouth to his bare throat.

"Take as much as you need," he said.

"Wait. What?" She shoved him back far enough to see his eyes. They looked slightly glazed, and his face looked too eager.

"You need blood," he insisted. "It's an honor for you to take mine."

Leslie felt something break inside her as she cottoned to what was going on. "Get offa me." She pushed him aside and jumped up from the bed.

Jake grabbed for her, but she was too quick for him. "Please, mistress. Don't deny me this."

She realized she was shaking. With fury, humiliation... and with hunger. Part of her didn't want to deny him. Part of her did want to take him, in every way she could. But the part of her that a moment ago believed he genuinely wanted her was in charge, and she was too hurt to give him the satisfaction, even knowing it wasn't his fault. She had to struggle to find her voice. When she did, she told him, "Get out."

Jake sat up on his knees, as if to beg. "I can't leave you to the mercy of your hunger. Please, mistress. Don't ask this of me."

"I'm not asking," she said, her voice gaining strength. "I'm telling you to leave!" She swallowed, hard, her next words threatening to choke her. "Your mistress commands it."

Confusion clouded Jake's features as he climbed off of the bed. Without touching him, Leslie guided him to the door and held it open for him. He turned to her at the threshold, opening his mouth to say something. "Just go," she ordered before he could speak. The temptation was still there, and if he argued any more she just might give in. He didn't argue, but he didn't move either, just stood there with pleading eyes. "Get out!" she yelled, shoving him out the door and slamming it behind him. She threw the bolt and fastened the chain; then she returned to the bed. Some instinct told her that day was on the verge of breaking, so she crawled into bed and buried herself under the covers. As she did, she promised herself that she wasn't about to cry herself to sleep over that jerk.

Yeah, right. Who was she kidding?


***

And that's (pretty much) all she wrote, folks.

©2007 by Jean Marie Bauhaus

Labels: Eat me

International Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Day, continued. In case you missed it:

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

CHAPTER 9


A cop buddy of Jake's had once gotten liquored up and got on his drunken soap box about the highway patrol, calling them state money collectors and nothing more. You could be the most wanted man in the nation, his friend claimed, with your face and a description of your vehicle plastered all over the place, but so long as your tail lights worked, your tags were up to date and you didn't violate any traffic laws, you could drive clear across the country and the highway patrol wouldn't touch you. At the time, Jake had thought his friend was full of shit. But now he hoped the man knew what he was talking about.

Jake had driven all night, determined to put as much distance between himself and that truck stop as possible; but now they were safely across the state line, both he and the car were about to run out of gas, and he didn't dare keep going with an open trunk and a broken tail light. So at the first exit he spotted that promised gas, food and lodging, he pulled off in search of a motel.

"What're we doing?" asked Leslie.

"Stopping."

"Why?"

"Because I'm tired." He looked at her. "Aren't you?"

A tiny frown etched her face as she seemed to consider the question. "No," she said at last. "Isn't that weird?"

Jake grunted in affirmation, but then he shrugged. "It's hardly the weirdest thing you've got going on."

"Thanks."

"Just saying."

She sighed as he turned onto the main road, and looked out at the sprawl of signs and buildings before them. "At least this is a real town. Though I don't suppose they have any five star hotels."

"Nope, don't suppose they do." Jake kept driving past fast food restaurants and a Wal-Mart. Finally, he spotted a neon pink vacancy sign under a neon green one that said "Shady Elms." Fitting name for a desert flea trap. The place was made up of 1950s-style bungalows, typical of what you'd expect to find along Route 66. It had a certain retro-kitsch charm, although it was definitely showing its age. "Doesn't look like much to choose from," he said, pulling into the lot.

Leslie's nose wrinkled as he parked in front of the office. "We're staying here?"

"So long's they've got a bed and a hot shower, they get five stars in my book." He threw her a glance before getting out. "You don't like it, you can always sleep in the trunk."

She stuck her tongue out at him. It caught him off guard, making him smile. He didn't expect that. He suddenly found himself wanting to linger there a bit longer. He didn't expect that, either. He'd just spent the entire night cooped up with her, and he was about to spend the entire day stuck in a cheap motel room with her as well. He should be glad of the break from her company, however small. Jake opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't know what he wanted to say. She raised an expectant eyebrow at him, but he just shook his head and went inside to get them a room.

Checking in didn't take long. When he came back out, Leslie stood on the sidewalk, shoes dangling in one hand, leaning on the car and rubbing her feet. She looked up as he tossed her the room key. "It's in the back," he told her.

She made a face and looked down at the gravel covering the ground between her and the passenger seat. "Damn," she muttered, and started to put her shoes back on.

"Hang on." Jake went to her side of the car, reached in and rummaged through the bag of groceries he'd bought at their last stop. He found the flip-flops he'd picked up for her. "Here you go," he said, handing them to her.

Leslie stared at the proffered sandals as if she couldn't quite wrap her brain around the offer.

"Look," said Jake, "I know they're not Manolos or whatever you ladies are into these days, but they've gotta be more comfortable than those." He pointed at her dangling espadrilles. "Anyway, I saw you looking at them when I came in back there, and I thought that meant you wanted a pair."

Finally, she nodded and took the shoes. "Thanks," she said, ripping the tags off. She dropped them on the sidewalk and slid her blistered feet into them with a contented sigh. "Seriously. Thank you."

Jake shrugged. "It's no big," he claimed, but he thought the puffed up balloon feeling in his chest must be what a dog feels when you pat him on the head and call him a good boy. If he had a tail, it would be wagging. Get a grip, Jake. He stepped back and waved toward the already open passenger door. "Your chariot, Madame," he said with a little bow. Leslie smiled, and the balloon expanded. She got in and he shut her door, then took a couple of deep breaths as he approached his. You've just gone too long without the prolonged company of a woman, he told himself. That's all this is.

They spent the short drive to their bungalow in silence. Jake found a spot well hidden from the road and parked the car. Leslie went ahead of him as he gathered up his stuff, but when he caught up to her she was standing at the threshold, scowling into their room. "What, do I have to invite you in before you can enter?"

She turned her scowl on him. "This place is disgusting."

Jake edged past her to look inside, and couldn't help pulling a face himself. It was a typical motel room, layout-wise, but the place obviously hadn't been renovated since the 1970s. Chartreuse shag carpeting covered the floor and walls, and it was matted in all the places it wasn't balding. A stained, burnt orange bed spread covered the queen size bed that took up most of the room, complete with matching pillow shams, one of which bore a couple of cigarette burns. A brightly labeled metal box took up room on the nightstand. "Hey, Magic Fingers!" shouted Jake, dropping his stuff on the floor and leaping onto the bed. Leslie grunted disapprovingly as he fished coins out of his pocket and fed them into the slot. The bed started to shake, and Jake dropped lazily onto his back. "Oooh, yeah. That's the stuff."

Still standing in the doorway, Leslie shook her head. Then she shrieked, and pointed up at the ceiling. "Lizard!"

Jake looked over just in time to see something scurry into a crack between the wall and ceiling. "Least you won't have to worry about breakfast," he said, his voice vibrating with the bed. Leslie glared at him, and he stared back, all wide-eyed innocence. "What? They're supposed to taste like chicken." He grinned and patted the bed beside him. "Come on. This thing feels great."

She finally moved inside, but only as far as the foot of the bed, where she folded her arms and glowered down at him. "You couldn't have gotten us two beds? Or better yet, two rooms?"

The ice in her voice evaporated the warm fuzzies he was feeling for her. He closed his eyes and tuned her out for a moment, letting the Magic Fingers do their work. But his time ran out and the bed sputtered to a stop. "Wake up!" Leslie shouted, kicking the bed hard enough to tear it off its bolts and slam it into the wall behind her, causing his head to bang against the headboard.

"Ow! Watch it!"

She cringed. "Sorry," she said, her voice sheepish. "Still trying to get a handle on this whole super strength deal. But seriously, Jake. One bed?"

He rose up on his elbows and sighed. "They're fumigating most of their other rooms. This was the only one they had left open." He dropped his head back on the pillow. "Anyway, it's not gonna kill us to save a little money on accommodations. Especially if you're gonna keep using my cash to bribe our way out of trouble."

"Didn't hear you complaining at the time."

"Then you weren't listening."

"Fine." Leslie sat on the edge of the bed. "But the least you could do is sleep on the floor."

Jake barked out a laugh. He sat up and looked at her in disbelief. "Do I have to remind you about the part where you kidnapped me? I'm not sleeping on the floor for you." He looked down at some cockroach remains that had been ground into the carpet. "Especially this floor."

"Are you going to keep harping on about that kidnapping thing for the rest of the trip?"

"Only if you keep being a brat."

She made a "pft!" sound. Then, "It stinks in here."

Jake sniffed the air. "It's a little musty," he admitted.

"Imagine 'a little musty' times a hundred and you'll get an idea of what I smell," she grumped.

"So open a window. I'm going to sleep." He started to take off his shirt.

"Don't!" Leslie jumped up from the bed as if he'd unexpectedly unzipped his pants.

"What? It's just my shirt."

"Just don't, okay? It's not a good idea. For your own safety."

He looked at her askance. "What, the sight of naked man-flesh is going to send you into a ravenous tizzy and make you devour me in my sleep?" She looked at him like he hit it a little too close to the mark. "Oh. Right." He tugged his shirt back into place. An awkward moment of silence ensued, then Jake shrugged it off and went to the window. "Anyway," he began, sliding back the curtain and cracking open the window. The sky was white with the faint pink tint of sunrise. He'd officially been up for twenty-four hours, and couldn't be more ready for sleep. "You can sleep in one of my shirts, if you want. There's a Wal-Mart down the street. We can stop there later and get you some stuff to wear for the rest of the trip."

He braced himself for spoiled rich girl indignation at the idea of shopping for clothes at Wal-Mart. But all he heard behind him was a loud thud. Jake turned to see an empty room. "Leslie?" He edged forward to see over the bed, and saw her sprawled on the floor, unmoving. "Leslie!"

He leaped over the bed and dropped into a crouch beside her, instinctively checking her vitals. Of course she didn't have any. Jake sat back and blew out a breath, remembering that that was a good thing in her case. Or at least, not a bad thing. He hoped. But what could have caused...?

He looked around the room. Daylight began to shine in, revealing dust motes hanging in the air and casting a shadow of the window frame on the opposite wall. Movement in the corner of his vision made him jump, and he lost his balance, falling on his ass. Leslie's arms shot over her head to reach behind. Her fingers dug into the carpet and pulled, dragging her toward the space between the bed and the wall. Jake stared, watching her limbs move at unnatural angles while her face remained slack. As her unconscious body skittered behind the bed like some kind of insect, Jake pointed. "That," he said breathlessly, "is fucked up."

He sat there a long time, trying to wrap his brain around what he just saw. It wasn't the creepy way she'd moved in her sleep that was giving him the wig, although that was definitely an image he wished he could burn from his brain. It was the supernaturalness of it all that scared him. This girl had managed to do some freaky stuff, and he'd taken it all in stride so far. He'd seen things he couldn't explain, even before she turned up in his trunk. He'd listened to her story, teased her about "the V-word," but even as he appeared to take it all at face value, in the back of his mind he'd assumed there would be some kind of natural or scientific explanation. Like they were all subjects in some kind of experiment or something, and she'd been given super steroids that made her fast and strong and affected her appetite.

Even when he saw her with that rat at the truck stop, he hadn't really believed it. But this... what she'd just done... that wasn't steroids. It sure as hell wasn't natural. The only explanation that made any sense was the one he knew should be the most impossible.

Leslie really was a vampire. He'd shut himself up in a room with a real life vampire.

"Shit."

Jake got to his feet. He paced back and forth on the already worn carpet, wondering what to do. "This is so fucked up," he muttered. But everything made sense now. That guy, the one who'd attack them and killed Ramirez. He was obviously a vampire, too, and he'd used his freaky vampire mental powers on Jake. That's why he couldn't remember the bastard's face. That's how the guy could move so fast, showing up in the alley with Jake and Leslie before Ramirez's screams even had time to die out. And it sure as hell explained why Leslie didn't stay dead.

Jake heard himself laugh. It was a ridiculous theory on the surface, and he wondered if he'd have even give it a second thought if he wasn't so sleep deprived. But somehow, he knew it was the truth. An eerie calm settled over him, and he wondered if that was also sleep deprivation. He didn't fight it, though. He hovered in the safety of daylight for a while, watching the gap between the bed and the wall, waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, he turned around and closed the curtains, making sure no sunlight got in. Then he sat down and pondered what to do about Leslie.

She was a vampire. In the books and movies, vampires were evil. You staked them, or trapped them in sunlight or whatever, and that was that. But he was no vampire slayer, and besides, Leslie hadn't done anything to deserve a stake through the heart, as far as he knew. Sure, she was a little stuck up and self-centered, and she could be annoying as hell; but that hardly earned her total destruction.

It didn't mean he had to stay with her, either. The costs of this little adventure were beginning to outweigh the potential benefits, especially when he considered that getting his blood sucked dry might be the price he would pay if she lost control of her hunger. He remembered the way she'd looked at him when he started to take his shirt off. It wasn't just lust (and he ignored the part of himself that was flattered, and even a little turned on, by her reaction). It was the look of someone who'd been making it on bread and water who suddenly had prime rib dangled before them. And he was the rib.

He also remembered the rat. She obviously hadn't wanted him to see, and he'd been happy to pretend he didn't, not wanting to examine too closely whether she was just nuts or if there was something to her story. But before that, she'd looked at him with that same ravenousness when he first walked up to her at the truck stop. The rat, he realized with a sickening feeling, had been a substitute. For him.

So, now what? She clearly wanted him, but not in the good way. He couldn't kill her, or destroy her or whatever you called it when your victim was already technically dead. She was a pain in the ass, but she wasn't evil. Maybe she was an exception. On TV there were always exceptions, right? Hell, for all he knew, she was the rule and the murderous ass hat who'd done this to her was the anomaly. He should still watch his back--er, neck--though. He thought about getting another room, then remembered they were all being fumigated. Maybe he should go sleep in the car. Or maybe he should just take the car. Leave her to go turn himself in and put his faith in the system to clear him.

Yeah, right.

He could always do this whole fugitive from injustice thing on his own. Maybe turn around and drive to Mexico with the rest of the money she'd given him. Start a whole new life and leave cheating exes and job fuck-ups and false accusations and vampires far, far behind him.

He pictured Leslie waking up, crammed into that small space on that nasty floor in this strange room, with no sign of Jake or where he'd gone or if he was coming back. He thought of how terrified she'd be, and he instantly felt like a shit for even thinking about doing that to her. His shock was clearly wearing off. With a sigh, he got up to crawl across the bed and carefully peek over the side.

Her face looked peaceful as ever, but the rest of her body looked so contorted that he knew she couldn't be comfortable. He felt bad for letting her stay like that for so long, even as he thought she kind of had it coming for trying to make him sleep on the floor. Mexico, huh? he asked himself. Right. You can't stand to leave her on the floor. How much worse would you feel if you abandoned her completely?

Jake sighed. Leave it to his conscience to put the kibosh on a perfectly nice fantasy. He studied her warily, wondering what else her sleeping body might do to defend itself if it perceived him as a threat. Slowly, he reached down and, as lightly as he could, brushed her hair out of her face. Nothing happened. "Okay, then," he announced loudly, moving to stand at her feet. "I'm just gonna move you up onto the bed here. There's no more bad sunlight--you're perfectly safe, so no need to get all weird and defensive on me. Okay?"

Nothing. She lay still as a corpse. And that wasn't just a morbid simile, he realized with a shudder. He leaned down to take her hands in his, then paused once more, ready to jump over the bed and run like hell if she so much as twitched. But either that thing before could only be triggered by the treat of sunlight, or... or she trusted him, even in her sleep.

"Alrighty then," he said. "Here we go." He hauled her onto her feet and bent to catch her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Then he laid her gently down on the bed, on top of the covers. She lay perfectly still, exactly where he put her. Jake studied her a moment, then sighed and lifted her head to tuck a pillow underneath. "I hate to say it," he said, his voice softening now that the threat of danger appeared to be past, "but you sure are the prettiest dead girl I've ever seen." He once again brushed her hair out of her face, then backed away, not yet ready to turn his back on her. He found his chair and sat back down, keeping both eyes on her as he went back over his options. But even before he started, he knew that his mind was already made up.



CHAPTER 10


She felt cozy and warm for the first time in days, all wrapped up and nestled in her blankets as the bed vibrated beneath her. Jake must have stuck more quarters in that stupid Magic Fingers machine. Not that she minded. The motion soothed her. She pulled the covers more tightly around her and let it lull her back to sleep. It was working, until the entire bed bucked beneath her and bounced her into the air. Leslie landed with an "Oof!" Then she threw back the covers--or tried to, anyway. She was wrapped up in them like a burrito. After struggling for a minute, she managed to poke her head out and look around.

She wasn't in bed. She was in the back seat of the car. Blinking groggily, she fought with the blankets some more until she was able to sit up. Jake was in the driver's seat, natch, gripping the steering wheel like he was imagining that it was somebody's neck. They were rocketing down a back road, one badly in need of repairs. As they bounced over another pothole, Leslie grabbed the front seat and hung on. "Fancy driving there, slick," she muttered.

"Gah!" The car lurched to the side, and the tires squealed. It fishtailed a couple times before straightening out again. "Damn it!" yelled Jake. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Sneak up? That's a neat trick, considering I've been right here the entire time." The car slowed, and Leslie risked letting go of the seat to rub the sleep out of her eyes. She noticed for the first time a bunch of Wal-Mart sacks at her feet. The other foot well held a beer cooler. She thought she caught the faint scent of blood. "What's going on? Why are we getting the hell out of Dodge?"

"Oh, that? Funny you should ask." His voice made it plain that he didn't find it funny at all. He tossed a folded newspaper at her over the seat. She caught it and opened it to the front page.

"Oh."

"Oh? That's the best you can say? Oh?"

She sighed. "What do you want me to say, Jake? I didn't expect this."

"Yeah, well, neither did I. If I did then I wouldn't have gone showing my face--that face--around in the most public place in town."

"I'm sorry," she told him, staring at the paper in dismay. Their pictures took up most of the front page. His was a nice picture of him receiving some kind of award from the mayor. Hers was a mug shot from an arrest back in her protesting days. What, they couldn't have used one of her old makeup ads? Why did Jake get a good picture? Especially since the headline read "Local Hero Colludes With Heiress-Both Wanted For Officer Assault".

"I'm not colluding," said Jake. "And I didn't assault anybody!"

"I know," she said, rolling her eyes. How many times would they have to go over this? "This doesn't change anything."

"Like hell it doesn't."

Leslie sighed. "Just tell me what happened."

"I went shopping, that's what happened."

Leslie waited. When he didn't elaborate, she urged him on. "And?"

"And people kept giving me these looks. At first I thought it was because I was in the panty department."

Leslie added to the looks he got. "You bought panties?"

"I bought you clothes. Enough to make it to St. Louis," he said, prompting her to snatch up a bag and start pawing through it. He'd stuck to jeans and tee-shirts, mostly, but there were some cute things in there. Cheap, but cute. "Now pay attention," he snapped.

"I'm listening! Don't turn around." She checked to make sure she didn't show up in the rearview mirror, then stripped off her top.

"Anyway," Jake continued, "I hit the automotive and sporting goods departments, and people were still staring. I figured it was all the girly clothes in my cart, but then mothers were grabbing their children and pulling them out of the aisles when they saw me coming. The cashier would barely meet my eyes when I checked out. Then I got outside to the vending machines and decided to grab a paper."

"And stepped into an episode of America's Most Wanted?" She'd changed into a plain white cotton tee-shirt and stripped off her capri pants. Now she was pulling the tags off a pair of lacy cotton hip hugger underwear. She had to hand it to Jake--aesthetically, the boy had okay taste. She also had to wonder what it meant that he'd clearly put some thought into her underwear selection.

"I came straight back to the motel and grabbed you."

"And made like Meatloaf. Got it." Another huge pothole sent her naked ass flying into the air. "Ow!" she complained as she landed in a very undignified position. "Where the hell are we, anyway?"

"Not sure. I didn't have time to change out the tail light, so I didn't get on the Interstate."

"You mean we're lost?"

He gave her that irritated sigh that all men give when their navigation prowess is drawn into question. "We're not lost. We're heading east...ish. We just don't happen to know which road we're doing it on."

"That's reassuring." Leslie pulled up her new, stretch-denim jeans (so comfortable! She was beginning to gain a new respect for low-end fashion), slid her flip-flops on, and climbed over the front seat. "You got a map?" she asked as she strapped herself in.

Jake ignored the question. "You want to talk reassuring? You know, you could have warned me about that whole 'dropping dead at dawn' thing."

Leslie cringed, embarrassed. "Sorry. I meant to already be in bed before that happened."

"And that crawl you did was the creepiest thing I've ever seen."

"What crawl?"

"You know."

"No I don't. Tell me."

Jake gave her a sidelong look. "You sure you want to know?"

She looked back at him a moment, panic about to arise. Then she rolled her eyes. "You're just screwing with me."

"Right. Sure," he said. Then he shuddered.

"Stop it!" She reached over and lightly shoved his shoulder.

"You stop it. Is there any other weirdness I should know about, so it won't come as quite so much of a shock?"

"No." Just that I could control your mind and force you to do my bidding if I wanted, but I don't, and I'm not even sure I'd know how to do it again if I wanted to anyway, so you don't need to know. "It sounds like you're way ahead of me in knowing all my new quirks as it is."

"Great," he said. "A voyage of discovery."

Leslie sighed, and Jake pulled a can of Red Bull out of a sack beside him, popped it open, and drained it in one go. She noticed several more empty cans littering the dashboard, and picked one up to inspect it. "Did you drink all of these?"

"No. The Energy Drink Gnome did."

"That explains the jumpy and hyper," she said, discarding the can. "Now what about the punchy and sarcastic?" She studied him, and realized he looked like hell. Bloodshot eyes with dark circles underneath, facial hair even scragglier than that morning. And he looked almost as pale as she was. "Did you get any sleep?"

Jake shrugged. "I nodded off for a couple of hours."

"Want me to drive?" she asked.

"I'm fine."

"You could stretch out in the back seat. It's actually pretty comfortable. And you've got some skanky stolen motel blankets to cover up with."

"I said I'm fine!" He swerved to miss another pothole, overcorrected, and caused the car to fishtail some more. Leslie hung on for dear life.

"You're full of it," she said. "Anyway, it's my car. I can drive if I want to."

"You're paying me to drive you."

"I'm paying you to get me there in one piece. Now pull over."

"No."

"Jake..."

"I don't wanna!"

"Why not? I don't see the big--" And then it dawned on her. Her eyes grew big as she stared at him in accusation. "You're afraid of me!"

"What?" He scoffed. "I am not!"

"Are so! You're afraid to go to sleep in my presence. Admit it!"

Jake sighed. "I'm not afraid. I'm just not all hot to make myself vulnerable around a vampire. So sue me."

She gasped at his accusation. "I am not a... a... a one of those!"

Jake snorted. "Yeah. So how do the pyramids look from over there?"

Leslie folded her arms and tossed her hair in indignation. "I'm not in denial, either."

"Oh, come on. You can't even say the word."

"Why should I? It doesn't apply to me."

"Whatever." Jake rolled his eyes. Then they suddenly went wide. "Shit!" He slammed on the breaks, swerving to miss something that darted into the road. He once again managed to regain control of the car, and kept going, albeit at a much slower pace. "What the hell was that?"

"Coyote, I think," said Leslie, able to see the animal just fine as it ran across the desert. She looked back at Jake, who was breathing hard and gripping the steering wheel harder than ever. "Now will you let me drive?"

Leslie's frustration grew exponentially. It wasn't just that he was pissing her off. She could hear his heartbeat pounding in his chest as if it was beating inside her head, and worse, she could smell his adrenaline. It smelled vaguely like chocolate. Or at least that was the closest thing she could ascribe. Whatever it smelled like, it smelled delicious. "This is ridiculous," she tried one more time. "You need sleep, and I need a distraction."

"I told you, I'm--"

"Jake." She didn't yell. She didn't need to. She felt something snap inside her, and her voice took on that phone sex quality, becoming soothing and commanding at the same time. Jake didn't reply. But he relaxed his grip, and his face went slack. "Pull over," she told him, and immediately the car rolled to a stop at the side of the road.

"Thank you," she said, getting out. She took a moment outside the car to compose herself. She couldn't believe she just did that. Jake would be sure to hate her now. Not that she could blame him. She was starting to hate herself enough for the both of them. She looked down at her flip-flops, and at the clothes he'd gotten for her without her asking, and for the first time she felt truly evil. It made her want to cry. But instead she tilted back her head, blinked her eyes as fast as she could, and fanned the tears away.

The coyote howled in the distance, its voice mournful and alone. It spoke for the way Leslie felt. But she managed to get everything under control. Then she went to the driver's side and opened the door. Jake sat there, shaking his head. "What the hell just happened?" he asked, looking up at her.

"You came to your senses," she said, feigning innocence. "Now scoot."

He scooted, but he kept a wary eye on her as he did. Leslie ignored it and studiously adjusted the mirrors. "How can you ride so far back?" she asked, feeling underneath the seat for the bar so she could move forward. "You must have monkey arms." Way to go, Leslie. Distract him from being mentally violated with insults. That'll get him to like you again.

"I don't have monkey arms," he said, frowning. Then, "I need a beer." He reached over the back seat and grabbed the cooler. "You want one?"

"Hello, driving? Besides, beer made me retch before I developed my strange new food allergies."

"Maybe you haven't tried the right beer. I nice imported, nothing too pale... I bet you'd like Chimay."

Leslie made a face. "Or maybe it all just tastes like piss and I shouldn't bother."

Jake grinned. How could he be grinning after what she'd done? "That's pretty closed-minded talk for somebody who sucks on rats."

Oh. He saw that? "You saw that?" She couldn't help pouting a little, embarrassed.

"Um, yeah. I did." He shrugged. "Hey, sometimes you just do what you gotta do." He slid the top off of the cooler and pulled out a Miller Lite.

Leslie caught a tangy, coppery whiff of blood. "What else have you got in there?"

"A dozen raw steaks," he said, and shrugged again. "Don't know how much blood you can squeeze out of them, but it's gotta be better than rat."

"That's...." Leslie found herself at a loss for words. She felt herself choking up, but cleared her throat and forced a smile. "That's either the sweetest or creepiest thing anybody's ever done for me."

Jake laughed. "Yup. Pretty much a toss-up."

She sniffled. "Why are you so nice to me?"

"I'm a nice guy," he said, not missing a beat.

"No, seriously."

He gave her a wounded look. "You don't think I'm a nice guy?" She bit her lip and waited him out, and finally he sighed. "I don't know. It's not like you make it easy," he said with a pointed glance. She looked and felt sufficiently sheepish. "But you just seem like you need to be taken care of a little right now. Call me a sucker for a woman in need."

Leslie bristled. "I'm not some damsel in distress."

"I didn't say you were."

"I can take care of myself."

"Never said you couldn't. But let's face it. You don't know the first thing about being a vampire."

She snorted. "And you do?"

"I've seen and read enough of the stories to help you sort out fact from fiction. I mean, there's got to be some truth in there somewhere, right? The fact that you exist at all tells us that."

"If you say so." Leslie shifted. She was growing uncomfortable with this turn of the conversation. But there was something to what he was saying. Whatever was happening to her, she couldn't deal with it alone. "You're right," she told him.

"I'm... come again?"

She rolled her eyes. "I want you to know that under normal circumstances, I'm fully capable of thinking and doing for myself."

"I don't doubt that."

"But this... whatever this is, it's too much. I can't do it by myself."

Jake reached out and touched her hand. "There's no shame in that. This thing is bigger than the both of us."

"Thank you," she told him, watching his hand on hers. The simple human contact felt good. His warmth seeped into her skin, making her feel almost normal again.

"Don't mention it," he said, pulling his hand away. Leslie pouted internally at the loss of contact. "Anyway," said Jake, "it's not like I wasn't thinking of my own neck when I picked out those steaks."

So much for their moment. "Yeah?" She looked at him sideways and teased, "Which part were you thinking of when you picked out all those panties?" She didn't need to see him to know that he was blushing as he looked out the window. She giggled, but then sobered up with a sigh. "I'm not going to bite you, Jake."

"'Sure you won't," he said. "But it never hurts to take precautions."

Leslie frowned, chewed on her bottom lip, and kept her eyes on the road. She would have to work a lot harder to earn his trust, especially after what she did to him back there. She'd promised herself she wouldn't use her thrall on him, and she did; how could she promise with complete certainty that she would never bite him? But why did it matter if he trusted her? It wasn't like they were building a lasting relationship. Once she got him home and in the care of her father's attorneys, she'd probably never see him again.

"I was thinking," said Jake, ending the uncomfortable silence. "Maybe you could try mixing the blood with some beer. Might have a sedative effect. Not as potent as your Valium, but still, might help take the edge off."

"There are not enough ways to say 'ew.'"

"Don't knock it. I've added beer to Bloody Mary mix before. That's good stuff."

"Yes. Because animal blood is exactly the same thing as a Bloody Mary."

Jake was grinning again. "You never know until you try." He popped open his beer and raised it to his mouth just in time for the can to explode. Beer and foam spewed all over his face and clothes, and on the car seat around him. "Damn it," he sputtered, holding the can out over the floor board and trying to use his other hand to catch the beer that was still spilling out.

Some of it got on Leslie, but she was laughing too hard to care. "I don't suppose you picked up any towels at Wal-Mart."

He grumbled something unintelligible as he shook out his hand and reached over into the back seat. He grabbed the newspaper and pulled it up front, shaking the front page loose and wiping up the beer with her mug shot. He went for another page, and the business section fell out. Leslie stopped laughing. A familiar face looked up at her from above the fold and beneath the headline, "Pet Industry Magnate to Merge."

She picked up the paper and shoved it at Jake. "Read this to me."

Still soaking up beer from his shirt, Jake took the paper and frowned at it. "'Gas prices continue to soar'--"

"Not that." She reached over and tapped on the picture. "That."

"Oh. Um..." He dropped the wet paper in the floor and found a dry spot on his jeans on which to wipe his hand. Then he unfolded the paper and began to read. "'Van Zandt Pet Nutrition, Inc., a household name to pet owners, will keep its brand name and trademark logo as part of the merger contract in a friendly takeover by'--hey, isn't this your company?"

"My dad's," she corrected. "Keep reading."

"'In a friendly takeover by Stark Enterprises.' You didn't know about this?"

"No."

"Huh. You'd think your dad would talk to you before he signed away your inheritance."

"We don't talk," said Leslie, careful not to grip the steering wheel tight enough to break it. "I'm probably disinherited, anyway."

"How come?"

"See above re: we don't talk."

Jake sighed. "I meant, why don't you talk?"

Leslie sniffed. "It's complicated. What else does it say?"

"Uh..." Jake skimmed the article. "You're dad's quoted. Says Stark made an offer he couldn't refuse... best move for his employees... huh."

"What?"

"'Mysterious CEO Rupert Stark, the reclusive billionaire, could not be reached for comment; but a spokesman for the company said that they are thrilled to have Van Zandt Pet Nutrition as part of the Stark Enterprises family.' Nice. Guy takes over a family business and can't even be bothered to give a sound bite."

"It hasn't been a family business since my grandfather died."

She could see Jake studying her out of the corner of her eye. "You seem pretty non-nonplussed by this."

Leslie shrugged. "It's not too surprising, if you know my father. He's always looked out for the bottom line." She gripped the wheel a little harder. "'Best for the employees' my ass. It's all about what's best for his Swiss account."

"I take it you and your dad don't get along."

"What gave you that idea?" She looked over and batted her eyelashes innocently at him.

He ignored her nonchalance. "You want to talk about it?"

"Not really," she said, turning her sights back on the road.

"Fine," he said, mercifully dropping the subject. Then he stretched, and let out a big yawn. "Y'know, that nap suggestion is starting to sound like a pretty good idea." He turned toward the back seat, then froze. "Hey," he said, touching Leslie lightly on the arm. "Slow down."

"Why?"

"Someone's coming up behind us."

"So?"

"So, they're coming pretty fast. What if it's a cop?"

Leslie rolled her eyes. "I'm already driving like my grandmother just to avoid these potholes. If I slow down anymore it'll just look suspicious."

"They're coming really fast," said Jake. "Leslie, speed up."

"Make up your mind, will ya?"

"Just go!" He pushed on her knee to make her step on the gas. They bounced over another rough spot, but the fear she sensed in him kept her from commenting. Looking in the rearview mirror, she could see a set of headlights--the first they'd seen on this road, at least since she'd woken up--bearing down on them.

"Holy shit!" she said as stomped on the pedal, accelerating just enough to keep from getting hit from behind. "I'm pretty sure that's not a cop."

"Yeah, me too." Jake stared back at their pursuer. "What the hell is their problem?"

Leslie racked her brain to come up with possibilities. "Bounty hunter, maybe?"

"Shit," Jake said, slumping down in his seat with a sigh.

"What do I do?"

"Keep going. Maybe we'll get lucky and it's just your garden variety road rage psycho."

"I really wish you were driving right now," said Leslie. Jake just gave her a look. "No, really," she said. "Can you take over?"

"Just drive," he told her, his voice calm. "It's gonna be okay."

"But you're the one with all the fast driving experience, driving ambulances and all. I really think you should be the one to gah!" She screamed and swerved to miss the coyote that jumped in front of the car. They went off the road, skidding in the sand. Leslie instinctively hit the breaks, sending the car into a spin. They did a couple of donuts before finally coming to a stop.

They both sat there, eyes huge, gripping whatever they could find to hang on to. Leslie could smell a rush of adrenaline, hear heavy breathing and a pounding heart, and realized it was all coming from Jake. "Are you okay?" she asked him.

Slowly, he nodded, as if needing to think about it first. "Yeah. Are you?"

"Still seem to be dead," she quipped. "Take that for what it's worth."

Jake managed a small smile. "What about...?"

She knew who he meant. Slowly, they both turned to look behind them. There sat a large, black Escalade, headlights still blazing into the night. Leslie swallowed, hard. "What do we do now?"

"Drive," said Jake, as the Escalade's door opened.

©2007 by Jean Marie Bauhaus

Labels: Eat me

International Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Day, continued. In case you missed it:

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

CHAPTER 7


Never read the help wanteds in the middle of a bender. Or at least don't respond to any of them until you've sobered up. This was the lesson Jake took from his predicament. When the courier had shown up that morning with the money, keys and directions, he'd had only a fuzzy recollection of calling an anonymous number from a payphone in his favorite tavern, where the bartender had so helpfully laid the job classifieds under Jake's fourth shot of bourbon. Had he not been so drunk, so desperate or quite so depressed, he might have scrutinized the ad a little more, or used better judgment in taking a job that involved leaving the state while under investigation.

At least now he could legitimately say he'd been kidnapped.

He watched his abductor out of the corner of his eye. She was looking at him, waiting for a response to her preposterous story. Except, after all that he'd seen, it didn't sound all that preposterous. It actually explained a lot. "What?" he asked, finally acknowledging her.

"After everything I just told you, don't you have anything to say?"

Jake shrugged. "What's there to say? I've been abducted by a vegan vampire."

She held up a finger. "We're not using the V-word."

"Vegan?" He glanced over to see her glaring at him, and hated himself a little for still thinking she had a cute glare. "Seems to me that lifestyle's been compromised."

"I'll figure it out," she muttered, shifting around and trying to get comfortable in the old car's big bench seat. He didn't know why she kept doing that. It had to be more comfortable than the trunk. "Anyway, I wasn't kidding about the money. You're going to get paid. You can hardly call that an abduction."

"You coerced me into coming with you upon threat of physical force. Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but that's kidnapping."

"I'm not your sweetheart. Don't call me that."

"You'd prefer Vampirella?" He smirked at his own comeback, then went on without giving her a chance to respond. "I guess fifty grand will soften the blow. I can use it to hire a lawyer to get me out of this mess you've gotten me into. Of course, this is all assuming you don't just decide to eat me after I've served my purpose."

Her eyes narrowed to slits. "You wish."

Jake gripped the steering wheel a little harder. "Either way, it's all over for me. Guess this is the price of chivalry in this day and age."

"Oh, don't give me that chivalry crap. You were so trying to pick me up, and we both know it."

Jake didn't dignify the truth with a response.

"Anyway," Leslie continued, "you're life's not over. My father's attorneys have scarier mojo than David Blain. They'll straighten everything out once we get to St. Louis. Trust me."

Jake snorted. "Trust you?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

"No offense, lady, but I don't put my trust in anything that outranks me on the food chain. Or in kidnappers."

Pouting, Leslie turned away to stare out the window. They'd left the city well behind and had hit the desert, heading up I-15 on the way to I-40. It hadn't taken Jake long to plan the route he would take. He'd always been attracted to the romance of the old Route 66, and it was something of a lifelong dream to drive it cross country--under better circumstances, of course, but he figured he might not get another chance. Might as well make the best of his situation.

They drove in silence for a while. Jake kept sneaking glances at Leslie, at first just to keep an eye on her. The whole 'V-word' thing made him more uneasy than he cared to admit. He hadn't really been joking about hoping she didn't eat him. But he kept looking because he couldn't not look at her. Her transformation hadn't done anything to mar her beauty, and in fact had only enhanced it. Or maybe it was just the full moon. It lit up the whole desert with a silver sheen, and made her pale skin seem to glow from within. She looked truly ethereal. Jake had difficulty keeping his eyes off of her and on the road.

"What about the dog?"

"What?" Jake heard the question, but it came out of nowhere, and he needed time to adjust.

"The dog. The one we tried to save? Did he make it?"

Jake shook his head, not sure whether to be irritated or touched by her concern for the animal. In light of his partner's murder and everything else that had happened, Jake hadn't given the dog a second thought. "I don't know. I got knocked unconscious and woke up in the ambulance, same as you."

Leslie scoffed. "Hardly the same as me."

"Well... no. Not exactly." And why not? Not that he wasn't grateful, but something disturbed him about being allowed to live, neither getting killed like Ramirez nor turned like Leslie. He chalked it up to survivor's guilt and pushed that line of thinking aside. "I doubt it," he said, answering her question. "The dog was already so far gone, I'd be surprised if it lasted much longer."

Leslie frowned, forming a little crease between her eyebrows. "Poor doggie."

Jake wanted to share her sadness for the dog. His heart went out to her a little, this supposed newborn monster who showed more grief for a dead dog she barely knew than for her own situation. But then he thought of Ramirez, and everything his family must be going through, and his anger at this whole ordeal got the better of him. "My partner's dead, too, by the way. Thanks for asking."

Her mouth fell open. "Oh, Jake. I'm so sorry."

"Sure you are."

"I am! You don't think I feel partly responsible?" Her nails dug into the upholstery, hard enough to tear it. Jake was glad it wasn't his car. "If I hadn't goaded you into coming with me into that alley...."

He wanted to agree and let her bear the blame, but she was clearly hurting, and his chivalrous nature got the better of him again. He sighed. "It's not like you made me follow. It was my decision to leave Ramirez alone. Besides, if I'd stayed with the ambulance, who's to say I wouldn't have just gotten my head ripped off, too?"

"Your head?" Leslie's eyes went wide before her face wrinkled up in disgust. "Oh, God."

Jake decided to change the subject, or at least direct it somewhere useful. "Did you see the guy?"

"Huh?"

"The guy that attacked us. You see him?"

She shook her head. "Whatever got me, got me from behind. It was a guy?"

Jake nodded, his jaw tightening at the memory. "I saw him. Looked right in his eyes."

"Well, that's great! You can I.D. him."

He let out a bitter laugh. "You'd think."

"Why not?"

"Can't remember what he looked like." Jake once again tried to recall his attacker, only to achieve the same result. "It's the weirdest thing. You ever see that movie, the one with that little girl in the well?"

Leslie shuddered. "I still have nightmares about her."

"Yeah, well, you know how the people who watched that tape had their faces all distorted in pictures? That's how this guy looks in my memory. Exactly like that. Like everything about him is clear, but his face is smudged beyond recognition."

"That's just creepy," said Leslie.

Jake allowed himself a tiny smile. "Quoth the blood-lusting vegan."

They fell into another silence, this one more companionable than the last. Jake found he couldn't stay mad at this girl. Not that he no longer regretted getting mixed up with her; but she was a victim in this, same as he was, and just as desperate. Maybe they really could help each other. It made sense for them to become allies. Besides, she gave off an air of vulnerability underneath all that attitude and aggressiveness that he just couldn't turn his back on, never mind her apparent super powers.

Jake considered those some more, as well as her story of how she'd gotten them. He was a little surprised at his ability to roll with it. A week ago, he wouldn't have been able to accept the possibility that vampires exist, let alone that he'd been hired to chauffer one halfway across the country. But now it all seemed par for the course. Not that he didn't have questions. Starting with... "So, do you need to... er... feed?"

Leslie looked at him, her face a question mark. "Huh?"

"You know, drink blood?"

"Oh. That."

"Well?"

She shrugged. "I guess. I haven't yet. I mean, except the once. But it's the only thing I can even think about eating or drinking that doesn't make me want to puke."

"Right," said Jake. "What do you mean, except the once?"

She folded her arms and looked at the road ahead. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You mean you...?"

Leslie's head snapped around to face him. "It wasn't human, if that's what you think." She sighed. "Not that that makes it any less wrong. But I haven't hurt anybody--not physically, at least--and I'm not going to."

Jake nodded. "Good to know. But, I mean, you're kind of new at this. What happens if you can't control it?"

"I'll control it."

"How?"

"I just will, okay? I kind of have to, don't I? Otherwise I'll become some thing that harms innocent dogs and uses them to lure unsuspecting victims into dark alleys and then fucks around with their memories. I'm not going to become that. I'm not!"

Before he could respond, the car made a sputtering sound and stopped accelerating. Jake managed to guide it to the side of the road before it rolled to a complete stop.

"What happened?" asked Leslie.

Jake leaned against the steering wheel and stared at the gas gauge, remembering too late that these old clunkers didn't have fuel warning lights. "We're out of gas."

"Oh. Well, no problem," she said, unpocketing her phone. "I have Auto Club."

"Yeah. Great. Good luck getting a signal out here."

She frowned in dismay at her phone's display, then glanced at Jake before slipping it back in her pocket. "So what do we do?"

"We haven't completely passed the point of civilization. I think we passed a sign for a truck stop not too far back. So we walk." Leslie made a face, and Jake added, "You're more than welcome to stay with the car."

She seemed to like that option even less. "In the middle of the night and the middle of nowhere? I don't think so."

"Aren't you, like, a creature of the night?"

"Not by choice. I'm coming with you. Just give me a minute," she said, getting out of the car.

"Suit yourself." Jake also got out, and met her at the trunk. The lid gaped open, thanks to that cop breaking the latch earlier with his crowbar. Securing it shut hadn't exactly been forefront on their minds when they'd taken off.

"This has been open the whole way?" asked Leslie. "How did we not notice that?"

"We've been a little distracted."

She let out a grunt of frustration as she pushed up the lid. "Shit."

"What's wrong?"

"My suitcase is gone. Shit!"

"Oh." Jake looked down the road behind them, but saw only a big, dark, silvery expanse of not much. "Well, next town we come to, we can stop and get you a change of clothes."

"It's not that," she said, pushing the trunk lid closed and watching it bounce back up, her bottom lip forming a pout that Jake couldn't deny was adorable. "I mean, not just that. I had my Valium in there."

"Oh." Jake put his hands in his back pockets and nodded gravely like he understood the importance.

Leslie turned around and slumped against the back bumper with a sigh. "I've been taking a couple every time I start to get, you know... thirsty."

Jake kept nodding, then stopped as actual comprehension sunk in. "Did that actually work?"

She shrugged. "It took the edge off."

"Huh." Jake considered the implications a moment. "Well, shit."

"Exactly." She held out a leg and frowned at her foot, which was clad in a clunky espadrille. That and her cropped jeans did nice things for her calf, momentarily distracting Jake from the increased threat of becoming vamp chow. "I also wanted to change shoes," she added, a whine creeping into her voice.

"Well, like I told you," said Jake, not really in the mood to listen to her complain about her footwear the entire way, and really not liking the prospect of being alone with her right now, "you can wait with the car."

She shook her head, standing up. "I'll come with you. It's probably not a good idea to let you go alone."

"What, you don't trust me?"

She blinked at the question. "Actually, I was thinking about your safety and my ability to see in the dark. But now that you mention it, no. I don't."

He felt irrationally offended, even though he knew she had every reason to suspect he might ditch her. Which, he supposed, he could. Maybe he should, for his own safety. He knew that wasn't entirely rational, either, in the face of everything. But it just felt wrong to abandon this girl, even if she was one of the undead. "You can trust me," he told her.

"But you don't trust me."

Jake lifted an eyebrow at her. "So, you don't trust me because I didn't trust you first?"

She put a hand on her hip and raised her shoulder in an infuriating half-shrug. Then again, maybe he could ditch her, if she didn't stop being such a brat.

"That's real mature," he muttered, going to retrieve his duffle from the back seat. "Fine. Let's go."

Leslie nodded curtly, then started walking. Jake secured the car and started to follow a few feet behind, but then he stopped. "Wait a minute."

She turned to look at him. "What?"

"What are we doing?"

"We're walking," she said, enunciating slowly as though he were a simpleton.

Jake simply smiled. This wouldn't be very chivalrous of him, but it would sure be fun. "We're planning to do a little more of that than either of us has to, aren't we?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about, you should push."

"What?!!"

Grinning, Jake sauntered back to the car, unlocked it, and threw his bag back inside. "You're the one who's like some kind of superhero or something. Do you think Superman leaves his car on the side of the road when he runs out of gas?"

"Why would Superman be driving a car?"

He rolled his eyes. "Because Lois Lane demanded that he drive her cross-country. The point is, its no big deal for you to push, is it?" In the moonlight he could clearly see her standing there, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed. He decided to go in for the kill. "What, little miss 'I can take care of myself, you chauvinist pig' is too girly to push while the guy steers?"

Leslie glowered at him all the way back to the car. "I hate you," she grumped as she passed him and took her place behind it.

Still grinning, Jake got in and shifted into neutral. "Giddy up!" he hollered, and they were off.



CHAPTER 8


By the time they reached the truck stop, Leslie discovered two things: one, it really wasn't that big a deal for her to push a car for several miles; and two, girls without pulses could still get blisters. It was worth it, though, she decided as she leaned against the bumper and nursed her tender feet, just to wipe that stupid grin off of Jake's face. He hadn't been prepared for how fast she could get them there, and now he kept a wary eye on her as he filled the tank in silence.

Satisfying as it was, it might have been a mistake to freak him out like that. She needed him, much as she hated to admit it, and if she scared him too badly, appealing to his nice guy nature might not be enough to keep him around. She thought of Kevin, and Raj's suggestion about a Renfield. If she wanted, she could have Jake eating out of the palm of her hand. But no. She wouldn't go there again, at least not if she could help it. Not that she knew how to control it. But even if she did, she wouldn't. It was just wrong, and too weird.

She hadn't told him about Kevin. She hadn't told him much, really, no more than he needed to know. She'd left out the whole part about Raj, too. She wasn't sure why. So let him think she was the poor little rich girl running home to daddy. The truth was none of his business, and anyway, why should she care what he thought of her?

Except, she did. She wasn't sure why. Yeah, he was a hottie, but despite that whole heroic nice guy act, he could be kind of an asshole. And it wasn't like the fifty thousand waiting for him in St. Louis, or her implied threat back in L.A., meant he was helping her out of the kindness of his heart. But he was helping her, despite her occasional bitchitude, not to mention the whole big thirst for blood thing. She couldn't really blame him for wanting to dump her in the desert with the car while he made his getaway.

Speaking of thirst, pushing the car hadn't left her sweaty or out of breath, but it had taken its toll in other ways. She needed to get away from temptation and compose herself, but she didn't trust him not to take off without her once he had a full tank of gas. She supposed she could threaten him. If you try to run, I'll catch up with you. Vone! Vone pissed off dead girl! Ha ha ha! Leslie rolled her eyes at the melodrama, and decided to take out a different insurance policy. She sidled past Jake, who stepped back to give her plenty of room, got in the back seat, and fished the money out of his duffle bag. "I'm going inside," she told him, shutting the door and tucking the thick envelope under her arm.

"Hey!" he shouted when he realized what she was doing. "That's mine!"

"Only so long as you do your job, hero!" she called back, and continued on her not-so-merry way.

Inside, Leslie turned away from the diner half of the truck stop and headed into the convenience store side. She limped past shelves of tacky California and Route 66 souvenirs and racks of just as tacky tee-shirts, making her way toward the bathroom, when a display of flip-flops caught her eye. Perusing the selection for a pair that wasn't encrusted with gaudy, sparkly things, she glanced up to see the big, black, gas guzzling monstrosity of a car still sitting at the pump. Jake was just hanging up the nozzle. When he turned to make his way inside, Leslie caught her breath--or she would have, if she had any breath to catch.

That first night she'd met him, he'd been all uniformed up and neatly pressed and clean-shaven, a little too former frat boy for her liking. But now, well, rumpled and scruffy was definitely a good look for him. His blue jeans and dark tee-shirt fit just right--loose enough to suggest he wasn't body conscious, but tight enough in all the right places to show that he had no reason to be. Leslie's gaze lingered on his broad chest and biceps before moving up to his angular jaw, now covered with a couple days' growth of beard that gave his face more intensity. It was all topped off with a thick, unkempt mass of dark waves that lent the entire package a touch of little boy charm.

Leslie licked her lips, and her mind went places it didn't need to go. It began fairly innocent: combing her fingers through that hair, nibbling on that juicy bottom lip, sliding her hands over that chest and those arms to get a feel for the hardness beneath the soft tee-shirt. Nuzzling his beard and breathing him in, traces of old cologne and alcohol enhancing his musky scent. But even in her fantasy, the smell of his blood overcame her, and as she ran her tongue up his salty, scratchy neck, it begged to know what lay underneath his skin. She shoved him back to the car, laid him back over the massive hood and climbed on top. Staring deep into his blue eyes to silence any protests, she gripped his shirt with both hands and ripped it open, exposing a buffet of skin and hard muscle through which she could feel his heart pounding, pumping him full of fear and excitement, fueling his arousal and encouraging her own. She threw her head back and ground against him, her teeth growing sharp and ready. A soft moan escaped his lips, then turned into a scream of pain and pleasure and release as her teeth plunged home.

"I need this!"

Leslie stared up at Jake, her lust turning to confusion and then comprehension as she realized they were standing in the middle of the store. He had his hand on the envelope of money still clutched under her arm.

"Gotta pay for the gas," he said. "You need anything else?"

You, she thought, fighting the urge to take him right there in the store. The flip flops she held twisted and crumbled as she squeezed her fist around them. Without a word, Leslie shoved the money and the shoes at Jake and ran to the bathroom. It was locked. "Shit!"

"Excuse me, but there's a line," said a young woman standing by the door. Leslie stared at her huge belly. The girl patted her stomach and said, "Trust me, you don't need to go worse than we do."

Before her fleeting thoughts of attacking a pregnant woman could take shape, Leslie turned and fled to the back of the store. She shoved her way past mop pails and shelves full of overstock until she found a back exit. A blast of hot air and diesel fumes hit her in the face as she slammed open the door. At the back of the lot sat a row of trucks, engines rumbling, their drivers milling about and ignoring her. Even over the fumes Leslie could smell their blood pumping through their veins, so rich and tangy and alive.

Her mouth watered as she watched the drivers. No. Her rational mind was still conscious enough to war with her thirst, but she didn't know how long she could hold out. A dog barked in one of the cabs, and Leslie took a couple of involuntary steps toward the sound. God no! Not the doggie! She held herself back, but was about to lose the battle when something ran past her feet. An orange tabby chased something under a trash bin sitting against the back of the building. Before she knew it, Leslie was on her knees in front of the bin, holding the hissing cat by the scruff of its neck. "Oh, God!" she said, realizing what she was about to do, and dropped the cat. It spared time to take a swipe at her before turning tail and running away.

Leslie slumped against the bin, not knowing what to do. Well, instinct told her what to do, but clearly her instinct was sick and depraved and she shouldn't listen. But her teeth hurt and her throat burned, and her stomach felt like it was ready to devour her from the inside out. And that was all to say nothing of her libido. She couldn't take this. She couldn't do this anymore. Heedless of the dirt, Leslie lay down on the asphalt and curled into a whimpering ball. She could just stay that way until sunrise, and then it would all be over.

A scrabbling noise came from behind her. Curiosity got the better of her, and she rolled onto her stomach and peered under the bin. A pair of beady eyes peered back. Without thinking--without even giving herself time to think--Leslie snatched the creature, brought it to her lips, and dug in. The sweet, coppery nectar of life gushed over her tongue, infusing her with strength and hope. But not satisfaction. She drank the animal dry, but it wasn't enough to quench her thirst. Not entirely. Still, it was enough that she could function without wanting to fuck or kill every person in sight.

Leslie looked down at the dead rat she still held in her hand, and frowned. "I'm so sorry, little guy," she said, finding the words meaningless and feeling like a total shit. "Like you were less deserving than the kitty just because you're not as cuddly." She stroked its fur, already cold to the touch, and felt tears prick the back of her eyes.

The door opened. "Leslie?" Jake called.

Leslie jumped to her feet, sniffling. She hid the rat behind her back with one hand and swiped at her tears with the other. "What?"

Jake leaned back against the open door, a grocery bag in one hand, looking her up and down. "Um. You've got a little...." He pointed to the corner of his mouth.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stared at the blood there. She had to resist the urge to lick it off.

"You okay?" He sounded genuinely concerned, despite the slightly wigged look on his face.

Leslie dropped the rat behind her and nudged it under the bin with her foot, hating herself even more for giving it such an undignified sendoff. She shrugged, putting as much nonchalance into it as she could muster. "I'm fine."

Jake nodded, though he didn't look convinced. "We should get going." He stood back and held the door open for her. She went inside and led him through the stock room, past the restrooms and back into the store. In front of the magazine rack under the front window, Jake grabbed her elbow. "Whoah."

"What?" she asked, yanking her arm away.

He jerked his chin toward the window. "That."

Leslie followed his gaze, and her eyes grew wide. "Oh." A highway patrol motorcycle had been parked behind their car at the next gas pump. Meanwhile, its driver circled the DeSoto, giving it a thorough looking over. "Um. Maybe he just likes old cars?" Leslie offered.

The officer removed his radio from his belt and raised it to his mouth. "Yeah," said Jake. "And maybe he's just calling up his buddies to tell them what an awesomely cool ride he's discovered."

"You don't have to use that tone," said Leslie.

"Oh, I think I do." Just then, the cop turned toward the store. "Duck!" Jake whispered on his way down, pulling her with him.

"Why? What's he doing?" Leslie asked, also in a whisper.

Slowly, Jake rose to peek over the magazines, then quickly ducked back down. "He's coming in."

"What do we do?"
"Come on." He grabbed her hand and, still crouching, led her back the way they came. Between the men's and women's restrooms stood an unmarked door that Leslie guessed was a supply closet. Jake stopped there and jiggled the handle. "Damn!"

Up front, an electronic chime announced someone coming through the door. "Here," said Leslie, grabbing the handle and forcing it to turn. The door swung outward, and she stepped inside, pulling Jake in behind her. The space was small, big enough for a shelf full of cleaning and bathroom supplies and not much else. Leslie turned around just as Jake shut the door, wedging them in.

A wire shelf dug painfully into Leslie's back, but that didn't distract her from the feel of her breasts pressed up against the rise and fall of Jake's well-muscled chest, or from the pounding of his heartbeat underneath. This close, she couldn't help but pick out every layer of his scent. She also couldn't help feeling the first twitch of his arousal. It all made her fantasy from before come whirling back to smack her in the head, like a boomerang she thought she'd thrown away for good. Realizing that they still held hands, she jerked hers away so hard and fast that it banged into the shelf and caused an avalanche of toilet paper to crash down onto their heads. "Ow!"

"Be quiet!"

"Can't you back up?"

"Not without opening the door."

"Then can't you do anything about that?"

"What?"

"That!" Leslie drove her point home with a thrust of her hips.

Jake sucked air in through his teeth. "Not if you keep doing that."

Leslie rolled her eyes. "Then how about you at least take your hand off my ass?"

"My hand's not on your ass," he said, still gritting his teeth. Leslie reached behind her, grabbed a set of fingers, and squeezed.

"Gah! Damn it!"

"That your hand?"

"Leggo!"

"And that's my ass," she said, releasing her grip.

Jake shook out his hand. "So sorry. It's dark in here, you know, and some of us don't have super night vision retinas." As he spoke, his arousal became more evident.

"Oh, come on!" exclaimed Leslie.

"Shhh!" Jake shifted, trying to turn his hips away, but that only caused a jolt of excitement in Leslie, which was the last thing she needed. She gasped, and shoved at him, to no effect. "Look, don't take it too personally," he said. "That thing's lonely, and it's got a mind of its own."

"How flattering."

"It'd help if you didn't smell so damn good," Jake muttered.

Leslie didn't know what to say to that, so she said nothing for a moment. Finally, never one to let a compliment go unnoticed, she asked, "I do?"

His shoulders gave a slight shrug. "You smell like a real girl, is all."

Her eyes narrowed. "I am a real girl."

"I mean a live girl--look, you know what I mean."

"Yeah. Thanks. Thanks a lot." She sighed. "Why are we in here?"

"We're hiding," he reminded her.

"No duh. I mean, why are we hiding instead of going out the back door and making our getaway?"

"What, so he can just chase us down and arrest us? We're hiding to buy time to think."

"Think of what?"

"A plan."

"Right. So what's the plan?"

Jake paused a moment, then said, "We should turn ourselves in."

"That's your plan?"

"Do you have a better one?"

"Uh, let's see. A plan that doesn't involve me spending the night in a cell and burning to a crisp in the morning light? I think I can come up with something."

Jake sighed. "Knock yourself out." Then, "Will you really burn up in the sunshine?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "That's one theory. But it's not really one I'm willing to test at the moment."

"Look," Jake argued, "I'm innocent. And I'm reasonably certain that you are, too. Except for that whole assaulting a cop thing back in L.A."

"Thanks for that ringing vote of confidence. And I did not assault him!" She thought about how that went down and added, "Not on purpose."

"Right. So we just go out there and let him take us to the station or wherever, and explain."

"Okay, yeah," said Leslie. "I see where you're going. And when you're done explaining how the girl you put in a body bag ended up in the trunk of your car with no pulse and a butt load of super powers, I hope your padded cell has a nice view."

"But it's the truth!"

"Yeah, well, I don't know about you, but I put more faith in the power of legal chicanery than in truth and justice."

"How did you get so cynical?"

"How did you get so frigging naïve?"

Jake's sigh sounded more resigned than frustrated. "I don't hear you coming up with a better idea."

"Shhh," she told him.

"Maybe if wemmph!"

Whatever he was about to say got stifled by the hand Leslie clamped over his mouth. "Shhhhhh!" she told him again, as pointedly as possibly. She heard footsteps approaching, heavy footsteps, the kind made by the big boots she imagined biker cops wore. They paused outside the closet. Leslie shot her other hand around Jake and grabbed the door handle just as it began to jiggle. She held it firm, giving a pretty convincing impression that the door was still locked. Jake's heart sped up, making it hard to hear anything else, but when the handle stopped shaking she managed to pick out the foot falls heading away into the back of the store.

She relaxed, and so did Jake, blowing a long breath out through his nose. He started to pull her hand away and say something, but she clamped down harder. "Huh uh," she said, closing her eyes and trying to extend her range of earshot. Suddenly, she could hear everything: the traffic outside, the chatter at the front counter, the ringing of the outdated cash register. On the other side of the wall, she heard a toilet flush, followed by running water and then the hum of the hand dryer. She could also pick out two more heartbeats--one slow and normal, the other fast and higher pitched, like that of an unborn baby.

Leslie waited. The heavy footsteps passed by again, heading back into the store. She waited some more, until the hand dryer shut off and she heard the creak of the women's room door. Only then did Leslie scootch past Jake and open the closet door a crack.

The pregnant woman stepped out of the bathroom. Beyond her, Leslie could see the policeman's back as he moved toward the diner side of the truck stop. "Hey!" Leslie called, low enough for only the woman to hear.

The girl turned just as Leslie and Jake stepped out of the closet. Rolls of toilet paper spilled out with them, and Jake kicked them back in before shutting the door. The girl let out a nervous laugh. "Heh. Whatever you two were doing in there is none of my business." She started to turn away.

"Wait!" Leslie moved after her. "How'd you like to make a quick hundred?"

The woman turned back, shock and disgust on her face. "Yeah, thanks. Not really my thing."

Leslie matched her grossed out expression with one of her own. "Ew, I don't mean that! Here." She nudged Jake. "Hand me the money."

"What're you doing?" he asked.

"Just give it!" He did, and she took out two hundred dollar bills and held them up for the girl to see. "Two hundred, right now, just to pretend you're going into labor."

The mommy-to-be laughed a little more, her eyes darting around the store. "Is this one of those hidden camera shows?"

Leslie sighed, and pulled out another bill. "Three hundred, and you don't tell anybody you saw us."

Now the girl's eyes narrowed. "Does this have anything to do with that cop?"

It was Leslie's turn for nervous laughter. "Of course not. Don't be silly."

"Uh huh," said the girl. "I'll do it for five hundred."

"Five--?" Jake interjected. "That's extortion!"

"If the cop catches wise I could get in trouble," argued the girl.

"Fine." Leslie took out two more bills, and handed them all over.

The girl folded them and slipped them in her purse. Then she pulled out a bottled water, uncapped it, and poured it on her crotch. "Oh my God," she cried, stuffing the bottle back into her purse, "my water broke! I'm going into labor!"

Jake and Leslie made a break for it, diving into the stock room and running for the back exit. Behind them they could hear the commotion. "Officer!" somebody shouted. "Help this woman, she's having a baby!"

Outside, they both crouched low and snuck around to the car. Leslie couldn't help grinning, proud that her little distraction tactic seemed to be working. As they got in the car, she noticed that Jake was grinning, too. He nodded his head approvingly as he started the engine. As they made their getaway he told her simply, "Good plan."

©2007 by Jean Marie Bauhaus

Labels: Eat me

International Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Day, continued. In case you missed it:

Part 1
Part 2

CHAPTER 5


Leslie couldn't breathe. She thought of the sharp, searing pain she'd felt in her neck before blacking out, and reflexively tried to move her hand there, only to find herself confined, enshrouded in cold vinyl. Somehow it sunk through her panic that the pain was gone, but that didn't stop her from frantically clawing at her shroud, rending it with her teeth and nails until she could sit up and see where she was.

An ambulance. Someone had zipped her inside a body bag. That paramedic guy! He did this! But no--she remembered looking at him when someone--some thing--grabbed her from behind. After that all she remembered was the pain as her attacker tore into her neck, and then merciful unconsciousness. She rubbed her neck, surprised to find it smooth and unmarred. Whatever was happening, Leslie knew one thing: she had to get the hell out of there.

She kicked off the remnants of the body bag and swung her legs over the side of the gurney. The ambulance lurched around a corner, throwing Leslie into some expensive looking equipment. As she righted herself again, two things occurred to her. One, she still wasn't breathing, and yet she was doing just fine without it; and two, she couldn't feel her heartbeat. Terrified as she was, it should be pounding in her chest, ringing in her ears... but she felt nothing. She searched for her pulse in all the usual places. Still nothing. Beyond freaked out, she tore through the ambulance's supplies until she found a stethoscope. She tore off its plastic wrapper and stuck it in her ears, but paused before placing the other end against her chest. Smiling weakly and suddenly feeling very silly, she shook her head at herself. Of course she had a heartbeat. It was just faint because of her ordeal, or she couldn't feel it because she was in shock, or whatever. But it was there. It had to be. Hello, she was still alive. Right?

Right.

She pressed the scope to her chest. It didn't feel cold. It should have felt cold. These things always felt cold. She moved it around, trying her damnedest to breathe deeply like the doctor always had her do, her uncooperative lungs only managing a tiny, asthmatic wheeze. She heard nothing. She tapped lightly on it to make sure it worked, then tried again. Silence. Leslie imagined that this was what death sounded like.

She tore off the stethoscope and flung it away like the offensive, useless piece of crap it was. "It's broken," she told herself. "That's all. No big."

The ambulance turned another corner and tossed her again, along with all of the debris from her ransacking. "Ow!" she cried, thankful that all of the sharp objects still had on their sterile wrappers. Wherever this bus was taking her, it was going there fast. She didn't want to still be here when it reached its destination. Leslie forced herself to stop worrying about her health weirdness and focus on getting out.

She crawled to the back of the ambulance and braced herself before opening the door. It swung back, revealing an empty road behind her, empty of other traffic and full of freedom. But they were racing at a pretty good clip, and fear held her back. Jump, said her voice of intuition, assuring her that she'd be fine. But her rational voice told her that her intuitive voice had lost its frigging mind. Would you rather get banged up or carved up? her intuition argued. Or worse. Who knows what these lunatics have in store? Her rationality conceded that that made a lot of sense, and maybe her intuition knew what it was talking about after all. That settled it, then. Leslie closed her eyes, and wondered if somebody with no pulse could still pee her pants out of fear, and jumped.

She landed with a roll, then got up and kept moving, finding herself none the worse for wear. That had been way easier than expected. But the important thing right now was that she was free. Scratch that--the important thing, she began to realize as she ran like hell away from the crazy speeding ambulance of death, was that she was thirsty.

First things first. Leslie stopped at an intersection and scanned for street signs, relieved to discover that she was still in the vicinity of her office. Not the greatest neighborhood to be stranded in this time of night, but at least she knew the way home. Of course, she didn't have her purse. Whether she'd left it in the ambulance or lying in that alley didn't really matter. Either way, she didn't have her phone, keys, or any money. On the bright side, she told herself, at least she didn't have anything worth getting mugged over. As she started walking home, she cursed her passion for the environment that kept her from driving her own car to work. At least then she could just go get her car and drive home. Hell, forget that. If she'd driven herself, she'd have been home safe hours ago and none of this ever would have happened. Maybe it was time to rethink her commitment to public transportation.

More than anything, though, she cursed this neighborhood's lack of fountains, drinking or otherwise. Now that she had her bearings, all she could think about was how she'd never been so thirsty. Everything else became a white haze of insignificance. She kept walking until she came across an all night gas station--manned, thank goodness, not one of those automated things. An employee meant a restroom. Leslie was so thirsty that she didn't even pause to consider the hygienic state of most gas station toilets as she approached the window to ask for the key. Eyeing the attendant, a black man whose graying hair belied the lack of lines on his face, she realized that thirst was a pretty inadequate description for what she felt. It was more like dehydration, starvation and unbearable horniness all rolled up in one.

Leslie saw herself walking up to the counter, bypassing the bulletproof window and going straight for the steel door, kicking it open and seizing the surprised attendant and shoving him up against the cigarette rack to ravage him in more ways than one. She closed her eyes and licked her parched lips, her gums aching and her throat burning at the mere thought of his life's essence flowing into her, filling her with a sense of completion and orgasmic relief. She heard herself moan with pleasure before hearing a tinny voice say, "Miss? There something I can do for you?"

She opened her eyes and blinked at the attendant, too horrified by her violently erotic imaginings to look him in the eye.

"You okay, miss?" he asked through the intercom.

"Bathroom," she managed in reply. He nodded and dropped the key into the pass-through before pushing it open on her side. Leslie snatched the key out of the drawer and ran around the corner to the unisex restroom door, fumbling with the key before finally making it inside. Wasting no time, she bent over the sink, turned on the faucet and cupped her hands under the flow of cool water, drinking until she could stand to drink no more. Then she stood up and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She felt far from sated, but the water helped enough for her to become fully aware of her surroundings, including the gross film covering the faucet she'd just drank out of. There was no mirror over the sink, just an empty soap dispenser and a plastic sign declaring that employees must wash their hands before returning to work. Leslie wrinkled her nose and scanned for a paper towel dispenser. Finding only a dingy cloth rollaway towel, she settled for wiping her hands on her pants. She had just enough time to consider getting a hepatitis booster shot before bending over and vomiting up all of the water she'd just drank.

By the time she finished throwing up, she was on her hands and knees on the floor, no longer caring what else might be down there with her. She felt like her body was trying to reject her entire stomach, not just its contents. Again she was overcome by the strange, consuming hunger from before, and again she imagined using the old man in the gas station to satisfy it. But her mind rejected that notion as surely as her body rejected the tap water. Leslie lurched to her feet, opened the door, and ran.

She didn't know where she was running to, but instinct told her to keep going. Her skin began to itch. She knew on some primal level that she needed to find shelter, although she couldn't begin to say why. The whole world blurred around her, she ran so fast. Finally, when she'd put enough distance between herself and the gas station, her civilized mind took over and she stopped running. "This is stupid," she told herself, deciding that the fact she wasn't panting and out of breath was the least disturbing aspect of her night. "I just have to sleep this off. Gotta quit screwing around and get ho..." Her voice trailed off as she realized how familiar her surroundings looked. "Home," she finished, spying the stucco façade of her apartment building a short way down the block. Her mind was already too overcome by weirdness to question how she'd run all the way home in such a short amount of time. Besides, that primal desire to find shelter kicked in again, and she knew she had to get inside.

Leslie walked the rest of the way, but she paused on the stoop, suddenly noticing a pigeon that had roosted there for the night. It awoke at her presence and fluttered its wings, taking flight. It seemed to move in slow motion. Fascinated, Leslie reached up and plucked it out of the air. She felt it struggle in her hand, a tiny life with a fast heartbeat that became even faster, fueled by fear. A barely audible snap! and it went limp. Without thought, she raised it to her lips and plunged her teeth past feathers and skin and found what her body had been longing for since she'd woken up. It was over all too soon. As she returned to her senses, Leslie stared in horror at the dead bird in her hands. With a cry of disgust, she dropped it and ran inside.

She was locked out of her apartment and had to use the spare key she kept under the mat, exactly where they told you never to keep it. She let herself in and went straight to her bedroom, refusing to think about the bird. She just wanted to sleep. In the morning, she'd be able to sort all of this out, and maybe whatever had been done to her would be out of her system, and everything would be better. In her room, she staggered over to her dresser to at least take off her jewelry before falling into bed. She looked in the mirror to see how badly this night had messed her up. It reflected back only her room, and the brightening light of dawn coming in through the window behind her. Before she could make sense of what she saw--or didn't see--in the mirror, her entire body grew too heavy to stand up on its own. Leslie went down, cradled in the arms of blissful oblivion.



CHAPTER 6


Leslie sat up. Or at least she tried to, but she banged her head. "Ow! Damn it!" She lay back down, rubbing her forehead and squinting up at the slats underneath her bed. She must have crawled there in her sleep. So much for a strangeness-free day. Leslie turned her head and confronted a dust bunny the size of her head, standing in silent judgment of her lousy housekeeping skills. She wrinkled her nose and backed away until she was clear of the bed, then she got to her feet and looked in the mirror.

Her non-reflection brought back the previous night's events in glaring Technicolor. She gaped at the mirror, lamely waving a hand as if movement might cause her to show up in there. She refused to believe what her lack of reflection and a lifetime's worth of pop culture indoctrination told her was happening. That just wasn't possible.

A bang on the front door made her jump. It sounded like a slow-motion jackhammer was trying to get into her apartment. Otherworldly impossibilities momentarily forgotten, Leslie covered her ears and went to answer the door.

"What the hell are you doing, trying to drill a hole in my door?" she asked as she jerked it open. Kevin stood in the hall, arm poised in mid-knock, eyes wide with shock. He gasped at the sight of her. "You're alive!"

"Of course I am," she grumped. "I think."

Kevin barged in and grabbed her in a bear hug. "Oh,honey! I was about to call the police to come break your door down! I got your message, and I've been trying to reach you all day. You didn't show up at work, you weren't answering the phone, I've been coming by and knocking all day... why is it so dark in here?"

Leslie looked around. She realized that it was after sunset, and she hadn't turned any lights on. Yet she could see just fine. That doesn't mean anything, she told herself. Gently, she wriggled out of Kevin's grasp, glad for once that breathing no longer seemed to have a place on her biological to do list. The only things light in Kevin's loafers were his socks. He was a big boy, and he had a strong grip.

"Sorry," she said, switching on a lamp by the sofa and squinting at the sudden glare. "I was asleep."

Kevin gasped again. "Chica, you look like hell. Are you sick?"

"I'm definitely not well."

He went on, circling her as he scrutinized. "Your hair's a big tangle, you're paler than death and--" He looked her up and down. "Is that the same outfit you wore to work yesterday?"

Leslie frowned down at her clothes, which were indeed the same. Kevin slipped an arm around her. "Come on." He guided her into the dining nook and pulled out a chair. "Sit. I'll make you some tea."

The mention of tea brought back memories of her attempt to drink water the night before, and Leslie felt her gorge rise. "No thanks. I don't have the stomach for tea."

"Not even chamomile?" Kevin continued into the kitchen undaunted, then paused and turned around. "Is it a stomach thing? Do you think it's catching? 'Cause you know my thing about throwing up."

"I don't think I'm contagious." Not if I don't bite you. The thought bubbled up through her denial filter, but she shoved it safely back through and put a lid on it. "I think I just need to go back to bed," she said, hoping he'd take the hint.

He didn't. "How's about some soup, then? I've been dying to try this new split pea recipe."

"Kevin," she started to protest some more, but knew it was useless to argue. Leslie had known him since her modeling days, when he'd worked as a stylist on a lot of her shoots. He'd been the only one she wasn't paid to listen to who could get away with telling her what to do, mostly because he ignored her protestations. "Bossy queen," she'd called him during their first encounter. "Prima donna bitch," he'd come back, and they'd been friends ever since. When she retired from modeling and became a full-time animal rights activist after doing one of those nude ads for PETA, Kevin came with her, and eventually they started their own advocacy and rescue organization here in L.A. Leslie had no regrets. She loved her work, although she had more personal and less altruistic reasons than Kevin for doing it.

"Go to bed," he ordered, rummaging through her cabinets. "I'll have much soupy goodness waiting for when your tummy feels better."

Her stomach did another flip-flop, and she let out a groan. "I don't think chicken soup's gonna fix this."

Kevin let out another gasp--she wished he'd cut that out. "Chicken? Who said anything about chicken? As if you would eat it, and as if I'd contribute to the plight of those poor, hormone fed creatures by cutting one up in a soup?" He shook his head and made a tsk-ing noise. "Poor birds. Oh, speaking of which, some cat got hold of a pigeon and left it on your stoop. I took the poor thing home and gave it a proper burial."

Leslie cringed with guilt and renewed disgust at what she'd done. But the memory of blood on her tongue, and the rush of exhilaration and pure satisfaction it had given her, reawakened her thirst. "It's not soup I need," she heard herself say. But it wasn't her voice, exactly; it was some silky, seductive, phone-sex version of her voice.

Without deciding to, she stood up and sashayed into the kitchen. Kevin glanced at her and did a double-take. "Leslie, your eyes--did you get new contacts or something?" She ignored the question and pressed closer, but he giggled nervously and pointed. "They're all glowy."

Something came over her, something powerful and commanding. It felt great, she had to admit, even as part of her was completely wigged. Her finger lifted of its own accord and traced a seductive line across Kevin's chest. "It's you I need, Kevin."

"L-leslie?"

She licked her lips and ran her tongue over sharpened teeth. "Give me what I need."

Kevin stared into her eyes. As if in a trance, he unbuttoned the collar of his shirt and bared his neck to her, pressing closer to her. "Here," he said, his voice thick with desire. "Take it. Take whatever you need."

Leslie's mouth watered as she watched his pulse flutter beneath the skin on his neck. It would be so easy to take him and drink her fill. And kill him, just like the pigeon. She held back, forcing herself to pull away, but Kevin moved closer. His hardness against her stomach shocked her back to her senses, and she jumped away. "Kevin!"

"Leslie," he moaned.

"Kevin, stop." She glanced down at his erection, then glanced away, embarrassed. "Kevin, you're gay."

He shuddered and let out a groan of pleasure. "So?"

"So? I'm a woman!"

"You're a goddess."

Leslie put a hand over her eyes and sighed. "I'm not a goddess. I'm your friend, and I'm not going to let this happen."

He moved toward her, arms outstretched. She put a hand against his chest and held him back. "Please, goddess. Take me. Take all you want from me."

"No!"

"But--"

"This whole thing is wrong on so many levels." She sighed. "You'd better go." When he didn't move, she said, "Get out!" He opened his mouth to argue, and with an exasperated sigh she added, "Obey your goddess!"

He looked at her like she just kicked his puppy, but he slunk dejectedly out of the kitchen. She followed him to the door and let him out, then locked the door behind him. She slumped against it and slid to the floor. "What the hell is happening to me?" She knew that neither hysterics nor curling into a fetal ball on the floor would be useful, but that didn't stop her from considering either option. "Think," she ordered herself. There had to be someone who could help her figure this out, because she sure as hell couldn't do it on her own. She couldn't exactly go to the doctor. Hi, doc! I've got a sudden overwhelming craving for blood. Do they make a pill for that?

This shouldn't be so hard. She knew people. She was connected. There had to be someone in her network of friends and acquaintances who could help. But the only one she could think of who might be able to figure this out and wouldn't either freak out or refer her to their therapist was two thousand miles away. Not that that meant she couldn't call him. Feeling a little bit less alone, Leslie wiped her nose--she hadn't even realized she was crying--and climbed to her feet. She wondered about the time difference and how late it was in St. Louis as she picked up the phone and dialed.

"Hello?" a sleepy voice answered.

"Raj? Did I wake you?"

"Leslie?" She heard the rustling sounds of him sitting up in bed. "No, it's all right. What's up? How's the eco-terrorist biz?"

"I'm not an eco-terrorist, Raj."

He laughed. "Fine. Then how's the pissing off daddy biz?"

Leslie bristled. "As if he even notices."

"Oh, he notices. Believe me."

Leslie frowned. "You're in touch with my father?"

"Oh. Um."

"Raj?"

"Right, you don't know. I'm, ah... I'm sort of working for him again."

"You what?"

"He made me head of the research department, Les. And he also made me chairman of the ethics committee, and he knows I'll blow the whistle if he gets up to any funny business--"

"You're running the lab for that hypocrite?"

Raj sighed. "Don't worry. The only animal testing going on there is taste testing."

"Raj!"

"Of the dog food?" He sounded irritated at having to clarify. "I bring Buckley in and let him try all the new stuff. If he won't eat it, we don't sell it."

Leslie sighed. "So how is he?"

"Your father?" He paused, and she imagined a shrug. "He's the same. He misses you."

"No he doesn't."

"No, I think he does. You should call him."

"I cash his checks. That tells him I'm okay."

Raj chuckled. "You sign all of his checks over to animal charities. That tells him you're still pissed off." He paused again, then asked, "Are you okay? You don't sound so great."

"Oh, right." In her indignation, she'd actually forgotten why she'd called. "Um, I called because I need some advice." With that, she spilled everything, holding nothing back. Not even the pigeon incident. Raj listened in silence to the entire story, and remained silent long after she finished.

Finally, he laughed. "Oh, wow. Good one. You really had me going for a minute or two there."

"This isn't a joke, Raj. Believe me, I wish to God that it was."

He snorted. "You expect me to believe that you're a vam--"

"Don't say that word! I'm not a one of those. They don't exist!"

"How do you know they don't?"

"Raj!" Leslie sighed. "Look, you're the scientist. So help me figure out a scientific explanation for whatever's wrong with me!"

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"Dead serious. And don't you dare make a pun out of that."

She heard him blow out some air. "Wow," he said. "You know this has the potential to be something amazing?"

"Or something really horrifying."

"Aw, don't be so negative, sweetie. At least not until I get a chance to check you out."

"You mean an examination?"

"Yeah. How soon can you get here?"

Leslie thought it over and made some calculations. "If I can get on the redeye tonight--"

"No. No planes."

"Why not?"

"Think about it. If you're adverse to sunlight--"

"I'm not adverse to sunlight."

"Right. Your body just crawled under the bed of its own volition while you slept because it didn't want to freckle." Leslie could almost hear him rolling his eyes. "Look," he said, "maybe you're not a vamp--"

"I'm not! Stop saying it!"

He sighed. "Maybe you're not 'the V-word'," he went on, "but to be safe we should assume for the time being that the legends are true and that you're prone to all the same vulnerabilities. And flying is too unpredictable. You have no control over what time of morning you'll land, and no cover from the sun. And what if passing out at sunrise is a regular occurrence?"

Leslie put a hand over her eyes. "I can't believe we're having this discussion."

"You'll have to ship yourself in a coffin," Raj declared. "It's the only way."

"In a...? You have seen one too many B-movies, buddy. Not gonna happen."

Raj sighed again. "Fine. I suppose you could drive. Or better yet, get somebody to drive you. Driving yourself is also too risky. What if your car breaks down and you get stranded in the middle of the desert?"

"Why can't you just come here? If it's a matter of money--?"

He laughed. "No, it's not that. But I've got meetings and deadlines and things I can't rearrange on this short notice. I won't be able to get there till at least next week. You think you can keep from drinking until then?"

There was a trace of humor in his question, but Leslie didn't think it was funny. "I don't honestly know." She squeezed her eyes shut and went over her options. "I don't know anybody who can take off work and drive me."

"What about Kevin?"

"No." She didn't know when she'd be able to look him in the eye again, if ever. Besides, if he kept offering himself up to her like that, she didn't know how long she'd be able to resist.

"Sounds like he'll do whatever you say. You know, it could be really useful if you got yourself a Renfield."

"You did not just suggest that."

"I'm only saying." He went silent for a moment, then asked, "So what are you going to do?"

"I'll think of something."

"So, you're coming?"

"I'll be there," Leslie promised, and hung up the phone.

©2007 by Jean Marie Bauhaus

Labels: Eat me

My contribution to International Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Day, continued. Read the first part here.

CHAPTER 3


"Tell us again about the woman."

Jake dropped his head into his hands. "Which part?" He felt like hell. They had treated his bruises, and treated him for shock, but they couldn't do anything for his grief, or his anger, or his guilt and confusion over why it had been them and not him. Add to that exhaustion and frustration that this interrogation had stretched well into the next day, and Jake was on the verge of wishing that it had been him.

"What did she look like?" The detective sat on the edge of the table, looking down at Jake, while the attorney representing Emergency Services sat next to Jake in silence. Jake sat back up and squeezed his hands into fists. "I told you. She was about five-nine, long blonde hair, hazel green eyes. Beautiful." And dead. The last time Jake had seen her, she'd been cold and pale, lifeless eyes staring at him in accusation above the gaping hole in her throat. He put his palms against his eyelids and tried to push that image away, but in its place he saw Ramirez with his head facing the wrong direction. Jake leaned over and dry-heaved under the table. He'd already emptied out his stomach after the first round of questioning.

The detective waited until he composed himself before asking, "And she was in the ambulance with you?"

"After I came to, yeah. Somebody put us there."

"Who?"

Jake glared up at his interrogator. "My guess would be the fucker that killed her and Ramirez." Beside him, the lawyer coughed, but he ignored her.

"And you didn't get a look at your attacker?"

"I did, but..." Jake sighed. He had looked the son of a bitch right in the face. But when he tried to recall what he looked like, it all became a blur, like a mental photograph in which the face had been rubbed out. "I can't remember."

"And you have no idea how you came to be in the ambulance, either?" The detective stood up and paced around the table. "What did you do next?"

"I checked the girl's vitals and confirmed that she was dead. Then I bagged her. I don't know why, it just seemed like the thing to do. Then I got out and went to the cab. That's when I found Ramirez." His empty stomach churned again, but he managed to keep from heaving. "I pushed him out of his seat and drove us to the nearest hospital."

"Why didn't you radio for help?"

"I... I wasn't thinking. It just didn't occur to me."

The attorney shifted in her seat and spoke up. "Please remember that my client was operating under severe emotional trauma. People do all kinds of things when they're in shock that don't make any sense later."

"Sure they do." The detective, a world weary man with more hair on his upper lip than on his head, leaned against the empty chair at the end of the table. "But we're talking about a career paramedic with years of experience and training in stressful situations. Even when traumatized, training usually takes over and procedure is followed."

"Begging your pardon, Detective," said Jake, "but I must have missed the class that covers what to do when finding your partner's head ripped halfway off his neck."

"You better check that attitude, son. Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in?"

The attorney sat forward. "Are you saying he's a suspect?"

"I'm saying that after last night it'll be amazing if he gets his job back, for starters." Jake winced. It was true. They had come to him in the emergency room to give him the news: suspended without pay, pending investigation of his conduct and assessment of his emotional and mental state. Oh yeah, and by the way, the police wanted to cart him downtown for questioning. He'd gone willingly enough, thinking only of helping to catch the monster who'd done all this, even though all he really wanted was to go home and hole up in bed and drink himself into a stupor. It didn't even occur to him until halfway through the first round of questions that they suspected the monster might be him. "He broke protocol," the detective went on, ticking off Jake's screw-ups with his fingers, "he endangered himself and others by driving an ambulance which, judging by the shattered emergency room doors at USC Medical, he was in no condition to drive, and he arrived with a murdered EMT and nothing in the back but a shredded up body bag where he claims there should have been a body!"

"She was there when I started for the hospital," Jake said lamely.

"Are you arresting my client for a poor job performance?" asked the lawyer.

The detective just shook his head and addressed Jake. "Best case? You're telling the truth. Which means you left your post to flirt with a girl who ended up dead, and then you lost her body. You'll probably never work in this town again. Worst case?" He came around the table and leaned over Jake. "You're lying. There is no girl."

"I fail to see how the lack of a second murder victim is a worst-case scenario," said the attorney, a slightly older woman whose professional yet plain appearance suggested she didn't care about much outside of her job. "And what could my client possibly stand to gain by lying about such a thing?"

"To cover his ass," said the detective, as though it should be obvious. "Manufacture an alibi for Ramirez's time of death."

The lawyer shifted in her seat. "Before you implicate my client in murder, detective, I'd like to remind you of his record, which up until tonight has been spotless. The special commendations he's received this year alone--"

"Lady, in my experience, it's the one's that look cleanest on the outside who have the dirtiest secrets."

"That may be, detective, but the last time I checked, your experience means squat without evidence."

As they debated, Jake sat there, numb. None of this was real. It couldn't be. He'd nodded off while reading in the ambulance, and it was all just a bad dream, including the girl. Any minute now they'd get a call and he'd wake up with a start to Ramirez chiding him for napping on duty, and they'd both get on with their job, and their lives. Ramirez... Jake squeezed his eyes shut. He'd only been partnered up with Ramirez for a little over a month, but in that short time he'd already come to like the pudgy Latino. He'd struck Jake as the kind of man who would never sleep with his partner's wife, for one thing, and that instantly put him at the top of Jake's list of favorite people. He couldn't be dead. And the girl... well, she couldn't be dead either, because she didn't exist.

The realization that he was only dreaming made it easy for Jake to be less than surprised when the interrogation room door opened and a petite Asian woman entered. She was simply yet impeccably dressed in a black suit, and her flawless but wizened face made it hard to place her age. She wore her hair drawn back in a severe bun that made her look as no-nonsense as the expression on her face. When the detective turned to face her, she flashed a badge at him: FBI. "Special Agent Lisa Bacani," she identified herself. "I have a few questions of my own for Mr. Cooper."

"Agent." The detective nodded, but stood his ground. "Your questions will have to wait until I'm finished here."

"I'm afraid not, Detective." She handed him a piece of paper. Jake could see that it looked very official, but he couldn't read what it said. "I have reason to believe that the events surrounding Mr. Cooper are related to a case I've been working on for quite some time now. The case of Mr. Ramirez's murder now falls under federal jurisdiction."

The detective squeezed the document tight enough to permanently wrinkle it. "You can't just walk in here and take over my case--"

"I just did, Detective," Agent Bacani said by way of dismissal.

"May I see that?" Jake's attorney got up to take the paper from the detective. She read it over and then shot Jake a look that told him he was fucked. "It's a federal warrant granting Special Agent Bacani authority over this case," she explained, but Jake didn't care. He was too busy trying to turn Agent Bacani into Angelina Jolie.

"I'll take this up with both our superiors," said the detective, then stormed past the agent and out the door without waiting for a reply.

Agent Bacani didn't even bother with one. She simply pulled out the chair across from Jake and sat down, clasping her hands on the table in front of her. "Mr. Cooper," she said, getting right to it. "Are you aware that there's been a rash of disappearances of both the living and the dead in southern California in the last six months?"

"No," said Jake. "I don't pay much attention to the local news."

"Doesn't that time coincide with your divorce proceedings, Mr. Cooper?"

Jake went rigid in his chair. The fuzzy dream-like quality was beginning to wear off of this situation. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"I'll ask the questions, Mr. Cooper."

"It's a valid question," said Jake's attorney, "and one I'd like the answer to."

The agent offered the lawyer a prim smile. "I'll get to it in a moment." She opened a folder that she'd carried in and took out some documents. Then she arranged them on the table and slid them in front of Jake. "Do you recognize this woman?"

It was her. There were several blown up candids, each taken from a distance with a zoom lens. From the casual way she went about her business in each picture, it was clear she didn't know they were being taken. Jake's stomach fluttered again, and he had to choke down a lump in his throat at the sight of her looking so vibrant and alive. "Yes," he said at last. "That's the girl who was murdered last night."

His attorney leaned over his shoulder to look at the pictures. "That's Leslie Van Zandt," she said. "Her father's the billionaire dog food industry tycoon. She did some modeling a while back." She looked knowingly at Agent Bacani. "Couldn't you have rustled up some pictures of someone who's not a celebrity, however minor, to try and ensnare my client, Agent?"

"I didn't know who she was," Jake said, his voice raw. Then he laughed, humorlessly. "She thought I wanted her autograph."

"I'll be direct, Mr. Cooper," said Bacani. "Miss Van Zandt has been implicated in the underground trafficking of human organs."

Jake felt his jaw drop, and he let it hang there. "That makes no sense," said his attorney. "She's an animal rights activist."

"As you well know," said Bacani, "some such activists are so fanatical that they hold animal life as more sacred than that of human beings. At any rate, my investigation has centered around her and her group of fellow activists. And now she has gone missing."

Jake rubbed his forehead. His headache told him that he was indeed not dreaming. But at least the pictures told him he wasn't insane. "I already told the detective everything I know about her," he said.

"Perhaps. What would you say if I told you that an eye witness watched a lone paramedic matching your description load his grandson into the back of an ambulance? The boy went missing, and a week later we confiscated a kidney that matched his DNA."

"Are you telling us that?" asked the attorney.

"I'd say bullshit," said Jake. "Or maybe it's true, but my looks aren't all that unique."

Agent Bacani pulled a notebook out of her folder and read, "'Tall, over six feet. Broad shoulders, muscular build, dark, wavy hair. A real handsome fellow, kinda like that boy's always on the news.'" She looked back up at Jake and arched an eyebrow.

The lawyer rolled her eyes. "Eyewitness accounts are unreliable, and besides, as my client pointed out already, he's hardly the only paramedic in southern California who's tall and has dark hair and works out."

"No. But he is the most televised one."

"What's your point?" asked Jake. He was sick and tired of the questioning, and he needed sleep. And alcohol. Not necessarily in that order.

"My point, Mr. Cooper, is that you have an admitted association with our prime suspect--"

"I just met her last night!"

"--you match the description of another suspect, you have the means, and as I established earlier, you have a motive."

"The means and motive for what?" asked the lawyer.

"Underground organ trafficking." Jake just laughed. It was too preposterous for any other reaction. But Bacani went on, undaunted. "My current theory is that you and Miss Van Zandt were partners, and you murdered her after some type of disagreement and sold her body for spare parts."

"Yeah. That's some theory you've got there, Agent."

The attorney also cracked a smile. "And pray tell, what is this motive that you've established?"

Agent Bacani folded her hands on the table. "Your divorce left you pretty strapped for cash, didn't it, Mr. Cooper?"

"Not that strapped," he said, standing up. He'd had enough. "Am I under arrest?"

"This is all sheer speculation," said the lawyer. "Circumstantial evidence at best. Certainly not enough to hold you."

Bacani nodded. "Your attorney is correct, although I do have enough to justify placing you under investigation. You're free to go, Mr. Cooper. But don't leave town." With that, she gathered up her photos and left.

The attorney watched her go, shaking her head. "Unbelievable," she muttered.

"I can't believe this," Jake said, wearily rubbing the bridge of his nose.

He felt a squeeze on his arm. "Don't worry," said the attorney. "They haven't got anything substantial on you."

"That's because I didn't do anything."

She nodded, but Jake had the uneasy impression that she had her doubts. "Go home," she told him. "Get some rest, and spend your time off recovering as best you can. Call me if they give you any more trouble." She headed out the door and left him there alone.

Jake rubbed his aching head and started to follow. The sooner he left this place, the better. But on the way out he noticed a sheet of paper on the floor and bent to retrieve it. He turned it over and saw that the agent had dropped one of her photos. Jake stared at it a moment, tracing a finger over the woman's face. A pretty face, one he knew lit up in the middle of a good argument. One his gut told him would never get involved in something so seamy as smuggling human organs. He spoke her name aloud, and then, "I'm so sorry."

As he left the precinct and made his way home, he wondered exactly what had become of her body.



CHAPTER 4


Leslie awoke to shouting and traffic. She opened her eyes. A wave of disoriented panic washed over her when she saw where she was, but then she remembered how she'd gotten there and calmed down. Breathe, she told herself out of habit. Of course, the command was meaningless. Her lungs couldn't obey if they wanted to.

She sat up and saw that her car had been parked on the side of a busy freeway, undoubtedly because of the highway patrol car parked behind. Uh oh, she thought, putting two and two together as she watched the patrolman cuff a man lying face down on the ground--her driver, she presumed. She knew she should do something, but the weirdness of the whole thing left her a little stunned. She tried to decide whether this was more or less surreal than waking up inside a body bag in the back of a strange ambulance. Then she shrugged, deciding that this scene actually fit pretty well into the week she was having, and climbed out of the trunk.

This was all that paramedic guy's fault, Leslie lamented for about the hundredth time. She wasn't sure how, but she didn't really care. It made her feel better to assign blame to somebody, and nobody else readily sprang to mind. Besides, probably none of this would have happened if he hadn't had her so distracted. She felt pretty sure of that.

She finished climbing out, inwardly grumbling and wishing she'd worn more sensible shoes--as if anybody would be judging her footwear as she rode cross-country stowed away in that trunk--smoothed her rumpled clothes and brushed her fingers through her hair, and cleared her throat. "Excuse me, officer?"

The cop glanced up at her, did a double take, and stared. So did the man on the ground, but Leslie kept her attention on the cop. She smiled and gave her hair a flirty toss. "I think there's been some kind of misunderstanding."

The officer continued to stare for a moment, but to his credit, his mouth didn't hang open or anything. Finally he holstered his gun and straightened up, holding his hand out in a soothing yet condescending gesture that raised Leslie's eyebrow. "Everything's okay, ma'am. You're safe now. Do you need medical attention?"

"Um, no. I need you to let my driver up. I hired him to take me home, and I'm on kind of a tight schedule."

"You...?" The officer looked incredulous, and he shook his head. "I need to ask you a few questions, ma'am."

"'Ma'am?'" Leslie folded her arms in irritation and gave her hair another toss. "I really don't have time for this. Can't you just write us a ticket or whatever and let us get going? I promise not to ride in the trunk anymore." She could only keep that promise until sunrise, but by then they'd be well out of his jurisdiction.

The cop looked to be getting angry. Leslie got a bad feeling that she wasn't going to be able to flirt her way out of this one. "On second thought, I think I'm gonna have to ask you both to come downtown for questioning."

Leslie snorted. "I don't think so."

"Ma'am, I will arrest you if I have to."

"This is ridiculous," she said. "You're gonna arrest us for a couple of traffic violations? I told you, he didn't kidnap me. I'm paying him to take me home. Riding in the trunk was my idea, because I have this condition, you see, and I can't--hey! What're you doing?"

Rather than stand there listening to her diatribe, the cop took another pair of cuffs from his belt and grabbed her arm. When he did, something took over. Leslie didn't understand how she did it, but her arm lashed out and hit the cop square in the chest, hard enough to send him flying into the nearest traffic lane and right in the path of a speeding delivery truck. She barely had time to think Holy shit! before her body leaped--leaped! Like, one jump and she was there!--into the lane, grabbed the stunned cop by his shirt front, and flung him back to the safety of the shoulder, where he bounced off the hood of his car and landed in a heap on the ground. He didn't get up.

Leslie's hands flew to her mouth and her eyes almost popped out of her head as she realized what she'd done. "Oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God!" she said, until the truck blared its horn and she realized she was about to become road pizza. In another single bound she was at the officer's side. She crouched beside him and renewed her new mantra. "Oh God oh God oh God!"

Her driver had gotten to his knees, where he sat gaping at her. She glanced over at him. "You saw that, right? That I didn't mean... I tried to save him! That truck was coming and... and..." She did a double take as recognition set in. "You! You're that cute paramedic!"

Now it was her turn to gape, even as her declaration seemed to bring him to his senses. He struggled to his feet and closed the gap between them before dropping back to his knees beside the cop. "He's breathing. You haven't killed him. Yet."

"Oh thank God! Can you help him?"

"Not like this."

"Oh! Right!" Leslie fumbled on the cop's belt for his keys. She couldn't believe none of the passing traffic was stopping, or that nobody seemed to be calling the police. She shook her head in disgust even as she knew the apathy was to her advantage. Then she found the key and took the cuffs off of the paramedic. What had he told her his name was?

The first thing he did was check the officer's pulse. Then his hands passed gingerly over the man's body. "He doesn't appear to have any serious injuries. He could have head trauma, though. We should call an ambulance."

"Oh. Okay, yeah." Leslie stood up, her mind reeling. "That's--" She stopped at the sound of sirens in the distance, growing closer. Guess she'd been wrong about that whole apathy thing. "Never mind. We've gotta go."

The paramedic--J-something, she remembered--glared up at her. "I'm not just gonna leave him here. And what's this 'we' business?"

"Help is coming. Don't you hear the sirens?"

"No."

"Oh." Leslie frowned and tilted her head to listen, making sure she wasn't hearing things. Nope. Those were definite sirens. That she could hear and he couldn't. She closed her eyes and resolved to freak out about her apparent new super hearing, et al, later.

"Wait," said the paramedic, getting to his feet. "I think I do hear them." He cast a wary look at her.

"See? He's gonna be fine. We'd better get going." She went to the passenger side of the DeSoto and opened the door, but stopped when he snorted. "What?"

"You don't seriously think I'm going anywhere with you."

"Why not?"

His eyebrows shot up. "Why not? For starters, you're dead!"

She took that like an insult. "Am not!" Then she admitted, "Well, only a little. So? You got something against dead people?"

"When they're walking and talking and ruining my life? Yeah. I do."

"Ruining your life?" Leslie rolled her eyes. "Don't be such a drama queen, Jack." She smiled in triumph at finally remembering his name.

"It's Jake," he corrected, and her smile turned into a pout. He stalked toward her. "Do you have any idea how much trouble I'm in because of you?" He pointed at the cop. "The police think I'm a murderer, and the Feds think I'm one of your organ smuggling pals!"

"My... what now?"

"They've been watching you. They know you're involved. Which is why I don't need to be involved with you any more than I already am."

Leslie blinked at him, then burst out laughing. "That's ridiculous! Organ smuggling? Me? I'm a vegan, for crying out loud! I don't even wear leather, and they think I'm stealing people's organs?" She shook her head in disbelief, then with a shudder she added, "Ew."

Jake looked annoyed, but something in his face told her that he believed her. Even so, he shook his head. "I lost my job because of you. The only place we're going is to the police, so you can help me straighten all of this out."

"I don't have time for that!" She slammed the door and stormed over to him. "I have to get to St. Louis yesterday, and I've already paid you ten grand to take me."

"You paid me to take the car. You never said anything about a passenger."

"Look, you'll get triple that when we arrive. Forty thousand in all, just to drive me home. How much do you make in a year, Jake? You don't need your job."

He glared down his nose at her. "My job is my life. It's all I have."

"Well that's just sad." Leslie sighed. "Fifty thousand. Take it or leave it."

"Leave it."

Her eyes widened. "Seriously?" The sirens sounded closer. She could see their accompanying lights flashing against the horizon. No time to argue. "Don't make me force you, Jake."

He laughed at that, but then his eyes settled on the unconscious cop and he stopped laughing. "You wouldn't."

"I'm just that desperate. Please, Jake. I can't drive myself."

"Why not?"

"I just... can't. I'll explain on the way." She closed her hand on his arm and exerted enough strength to let him know she meant business. "We have to go. Now."

He looked down at her hand, and his face turned pale. Shit. She hadn't meant to hurt him. His sudden fear filled the air around him with a heady scent that made her teeth ache and her mouth water. She didn't want to acknowledge that, either, or face the dawning horror in his eyes.

"What are you?" he asked, his voice hushed and frightened.

"Later," she said, her own voice firm and way calmer than she felt. "Let's go."

©2007 by Jean Marie Bauhaus

Labels: Eat me

In honor of International Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Day, I give you the first twelve chapters of my attempt at a romance novel. Eat Me In St. Louie was my tongue-in-cheek working title for this story about a guy who's hired to deliver an antique car to St. Louis and finds a beautiful vampire stowing away in the trunk. There's a little more past chapter twelve, but chapter thirteen kind of fizzled out, and then I got distracted and moved on to other things. This is an extremely rough draft, but I think it has some entertainment value. If you like it and pester me enough about it, I could possibly be coaxed to finish it as a blog exclusive. Y'know, after my current novel is finished and out of the way.



CHAPTER 1


The cop pulled his gun. "Get out of the car and keep both hands where I can see them!"

Staring in open-mouthed disbelief, Jake Cooper did as he was told. Spreading his hands out on the roof of the car, he recounted the year so far: a year that kicked off with finding his wife--ex-wife, as of a month ago--boinking his partner at his EMS crew's New Year's Eve party. The last six months had been pretty much downhill from there, the only high points coming from his job. From being really damn good at his job, that is. And last week he'd lost that, too, along with his new partner and his reputation. But as the officer frisked Jake, something told him he hadn't hit rock-bottom quite yet.

"There's a warrant to arrest you if you try to leave town," said the patrolman, a kid about two-thirds Jake's age and twice his size. He stepped back and let Jake turn around.

"I wasn't," said Jake. "I mean, technically, I was. But only long enough to drop off this car in Missouri. I'd have been back before the feds even had time to notice."

"Save it." The cop's voice held a disgusted, disappointed tone as he looked Jake up and down. "I remember you, man. You helped us work that pileup on I-5 a couple months ago."

Jake squinted at the patrolman's badge. Simmons. Jake nodded. "I remember."

"We ordered everyone able to clear out because of fumes, but you stayed."

"I just did my job," said Jake, repeating the line he was used to giving reporters and patients' family members every time they tried to pin a hero badge on him. It wasn't false modesty. It was simply the truth.

"You saved a lot of people that day, man." Simmons shook his head. "That's the only reason you're not in cuffs right now. To think what you were up to on the side."

"Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?"

"Innocent people don't run." Ah, youth, thought Jake, hoping that age and experience would bring the kid a slightly more nuanced world view. "Open the trunk," he ordered Jake.

Jake's grandmother, superstitious soul that she was, would have seen the freak summer thunderstorm that seemed to come out of nowhere earlier that evening, just as Jake picked up the old DeSoto from the lot, as an omen that he shouldn't take the job. And if that hadn't done it, the flat tire he'd gotten right after pulling onto the Interstate would have. Getting pulled over for a busted tail light was just the icing on a bitter cake. And now this? Jake sighed and looked up at the darkening sky. He was starting to think Grandma was right. "I can't," he said.

"Open it or I'll pry it open."

Jake shrugged. "Be my guest. The latch is busted. Look, this isn't even my car. I'm just delivering it to its owner in St. Louis."

"You're telling me somebody actually wants this piece of junk?"

"To fix up, yeah." Again, Jake shrugged. "People have all kinds of hobbies, man."

"And that you're sneaking out of town after dark. Just to innocently deliver a car."

"I'm used to third shift." Jake couldn't keep the irritation out of his voice. "Look, I haven't actually violated my court order yet. I'm still in the city limits. Are you gonna arrest me for a broken tail light?"

"I'll let you know after I see what's in the trunk. Stand there and don't move."

Jake closed his eyes as Simmons went to his patrol car. "Check my front seat," he called. "You'll find the letter from my employer with all of my instructions--" --along with a big bundle of cash, Jake remembered too late. That wouldn't exactly make him look any less the part of a suspected international smuggler trying to skip town. "I'll get it," he said, backing toward the DeSoto. "Just let me--"

"I said not to move!" Simmons shouted and drew his gun.

Jake froze in place, hands in the air. "I was just--"

"Quiet," the cop ordered, coming back to the trunk with a crowbar in his other hand. The hand that wasn't holding a gun. Jake shut his mouth and bit back protests about a lack of warrant or probable cause. Although, he supposed, catching someone under federal criminal investigation on his way out of town under the cover of darkness provided plenty of probable cause. Besides, what did he care if the whole car got searched? He had nothing to hide.

The trunk's lid popped open pretty easily, and Simmons stood back. Jake's jaw dropped. You've got to be kidding me, he thought, but his mouth was too busy hanging open in shock to articulate the words.

"On the ground," said the officer. Jake had to give the boy credit for keeping his voice calm. "Now."

"I don't know anything about that!" Jake said, pointing at the body, the gun in his face renewing his ability to speak. "I told you, it's not even my car--"

"I said to get on the ground!" shouted Simmons. So much for keeping calm.

Jake held his hands up in a gesture of surrender, trying to placate the wound-up rookie. He tore his gaze from the gun and looked at the girl in the trunk. "I'm a paramedic," he reminded Simmons. "She might need medical attention."

"Get down!" Simmons ordered again, moving behind Jake and forcing him onto his knees.

"Look!" Jake was starting to lose his calm. "I might be able to help... her...." His voice trailed off as recognition set in. It was her. He almost hadn't recognized her without all the blood and the big chunk taken out of her neck; whoever was behind this had done a great job of cleaning her up. She looked serene, even beautiful, like she was merely sleeping and not dead. But it was definitely her. The reason he was in this whole mess.



CHAPTER 2


Ramirez parked the ambulance facing north on La Cienega. He pulled a portable DVD player from beneath his seat as Jake leaned over to turn up the dispatch radio. "Turn that down, man," Ramirez complained, queuing up his disc to where he'd left off after their last call. "I'm watching a movie here."

"So sorry," said Jake, dialing the volume down a notch. "I'd hate for any life or death emergencies to interfere with your light saber fights."

Ramirez shot him a look, then settled in with his movie. Jake simply smiled and took his paperback out of the glove compartment. They had to be ready to roll on a moment's notice, but that didn't mean that they wouldn't be parked a good long while before the next call in their area. Ramirez had offered to set the player up where they could both see it, but he was watching Episode I. Jake had seen it once, and that was enough.

Jake thumbed his James Patterson novel open to where he'd bookmarked it with a Starbucks receipt and started to read. After about the third time he re-read the same paragraph, he gave up and let his thoughts wander. He wasn't brooding. Definitely not. He'd officially given up brooding once the divorce became final. He was thinking, that's all. Not about Sheila, and not about Ed, his former partner and ex best friend. Certainly not about how they'd stabbed him in the back and then ripped his heart out through the hole. No. He was thinking that it was time he started dating again. Not to start a relationship--obviously, he was no good at those. He was too dedicated to his work, out at all hours of the night, unable to give a girl enough attention to keep her happy--in short, he was lousy husband material. Or so Sheila had said during the settlement hearings. At any rate, Jake had just managed to pick up his heart and stuff it back in place. He wasn't about to put it in anybody else's hands any time soon.

But he was still young. Still handsome, too, at least according to the nurses at USC Medical, who never failed to flirt whenever he delivered a patient there. Maybe it was time he started flirting back. No reason a single guy like him shouldn't dip a toe back in the dating pool. Have some fun, blow off some steam, maybe meet a nice girl who wasn't looking to get too attached. Someone pretty. Someone he could laugh with. Someone he could talk to. Someone like... her.

She stood waiting at the bus stop across the street, all blonde hair and healthy curves, her tank top and Capri pants showing off arms and legs that looked like they were plenty familiar with a Pilates mat. A scarf held her long hair back, and a gentle night breeze carried the rest of it behind her, giving Jake a good view of a face that was girl-next-door pretty and not so stunning as to be intimidating. There was something familiar about that face that Jake couldn't quite pin down. He was on the verge of figuring it out when Ramirez thumped him on the chest.

"Hey, man. Why don't you go talk to her?"

Jake coughed and looked back at his book, feigning innocence. "Talk to who?"

Ramirez gave him a sly grin. "You know who, homes." He looked over at the girl. "She's a cutie. Go ask her out, dude."

"What? No!"

"Why not?"

"Because you don't just walk up to some girl at a bus stop and ask her out."

"Sure I do."

"Fine," said Jake. "I don't. With my luck lately, she'd probably pepper spray me."

"No, man. You got the looks, you got the uniform... and maybe she'll recognize you from TV. She'll be flattered."

Jake sighed. As much as he tried to avoid it, he had gotten a lot of press this year. Not having a wife to go home to anymore meant a certain amount of freedom to take bigger risks. The shrink his superiors had made him talk to suggested he had some kind of death wish, fueled by depression caused by the divorce. That thought was what depressed Jake. What kind of man needed a death wish to make him decide to pull a little girl out of a burning car, or to take a bullet for a patient in a gang war zone? He'd only been doing his job. He didn't quite get what the big deal was.

"Don't make me order you to go talk to her," said Ramirez.

"Don't make me remind you that, one," Jake held up a finger, "I'm in charge here, and two," he held up a second finger, "we're on duty."

Ramirez chuckled. "Come on, dude. You know as well as I do that we could go all night without another call."

"Or we could get one any minute," Jake reminded him.

"Yeah, but she's right across the street! We get a call, and you're back in the truck by the time I get it started."

Ramirez was right. Walking over to the bus stop wouldn't jeopardize their response time. Besides, Jake could stand to get out and stretch his legs. His heart sped up as he realized he was seriously contemplating talking to the girl. A minute ago she'd been a safe fantasy, and now....

"What've you got to lose, man?" asked Ramirez.

"Nothing, I suppose," said Jake. But he thought, Everything. His heart, his pride, his courage to ever do this again if she shot him down. But this was about climbing back on the horse, he told himself. If he didn't do it now, he might never get up the nerve. He took a deep, calming breath, stashed his book, and nodded. "Here goes." Jake got out of the ambulance.

Again, the sense that he'd seen her someplace before struck Jake as he crossed the street. He hoped she wasn't a celebrity. If she expected to be recognized and he still couldn't place her, things could get awkward. She had taken a seat on one end of a long bench, leaving as much space as possible between herself and the bench's only other occupant, a man dressed in black and reading the paper. Jake didn't blame her for scooting down. Even though the newspaper hid most of the man from view, something about him gave Jake the creeps.

As he got nearer, she looked up at him, then down at his uniform, then behind him at his ambulance. When her gaze met his again, she wore a puzzled frown. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

Jake stopped in his tracks, thrown by the question. "What? No. Why?"

She shook her head. "Sorry. Automatic reaction to people in uniforms." She went back to ignoring him and watching for her bus.

"Um," said Jake, and moved closer. "Hello."

"Hi." She looked up at him, eyebrows raised. Under the bright lights of the bus stop he could see that her eyes were a sort of light green hazel. Pretty. "Can I help you with something?"

Jake realized he was staring, and closed his eyes a moment to compose himself. "Sorry," he said, and smiled, trying to put her at ease. "I just... I saw you over here, and... I mean--" Shit. "Heh. I've never done this sort of thing before."

"It's all right," she told him, returning his smile. Jake relaxed a little. She wasn't reaching for the pepper spray yet. He took that as a good sign. "I get this a lot," she continued, "but I'm sorry. I don't give out autographs anymore."

Crap. She was a celebrity. Jake's mind raced trying to place her, but when it came up blank he decided to sidestep the issue. "It's not that. It's just, I saw you over here and thought, pretty girl like her, this time of night in this neighborhood... not a good idea to be alone."

"And, what?" She eyed him skeptically. "You thought you'd come over here and save me from my own naiveté? You got some kind of hero complex?"

"No." That came out more defensive than he'd meant it to. His shrink had suggested the same thing, too. Jake rubbed the back of his neck, and then shrugged, defeated. "Look, sorry I bothered you. I just wanted to let you know that my partner and I are right over here if you need anything. Nice talking to you." He turned to go. Yeah, that went well, he thought as he started back to the ambulance. At least he'd managed to salvage a shred of dignity there at the end. He hoped.

"Wait!"

Jake stopped and looked back at her. She'd stood up and slung her bag over her shoulder. "Thanks," she said, coming toward him. "And, sorry. I'm sure you're a nice guy with sweet intentions. But I can take care of myself."

Jake sized her up. She wasn't a tiny girl. In her flip flops, she stood about eye level with his nose, and he was just over six feet. He had a sudden hankering to see her in high heels. Pushing that thought aside, he nodded. "I'm sure you can."

"And I hate it when anybody suggests that I can't."

"I didn't mean--"

"I know, I know." She waved a hand as if to dismiss their entire previous conversation. "You meant to impress me with your nice guy act, and it didn't occur to you that I'd see you as an overbearing chauvinist." Her hand flew to her mouth. Jake just stared at her as her hand moved to rest on her chest, and she smiled. "That came out wrong."

"I'm sure it did." His trouble alarms started going off. Back away from the hot crazy chick, they were telling him. He wanted to listen and obey, but for some reason his mouth kept moving instead of his feet. "So instead of naïve and trusting, you're just so cynical and pig-headed that you don't know how to handle somebody looking out for your best interest."

Her mouth dropped open at "pig-headed." Jake kept himself from smirking, but he still wasn't walking away. "You expect me to believe you didn't have an ulterior motive for coming over here?" she asked. Well, shit. She had him there. "And what makes you qualified to know what my best interests are?"

"How's about years of training and experience in emergency medicine, search and rescue?"

"Well, that's just great," she said, folding her arms in front of her. "I'll be sure and ask your advice the next time I'm having chest pains or get lost on a hike."

"You know what? Don't bother." Jake turned to walk away. He wished he could credit his inner strength for not taking the bait, but the truth was that his hackles weren't the only thing this woman was getting a rise out of. If he didn't cut and run, things were going to get pretty embarrassing.

"Chica looks pissed, homes!" Ramirez stage-whispered as Jake neared his side of the street. "You get her number?"

Jake just glowered at him and headed around for the passenger side. But he couldn't help sneaking a glance over his shoulder. His verbal sparring partner had moved back under the lights, and her ample chest rose and fell rapidly in her irritation. His gaze lingered there a moment, until she shot a glare in his direction and he guiltily turned back to the ambulance. He had his hand on the door when something in the distance let out a yelp.

Jake froze. "You hear that?" he asked Ramirez.

"Yeah. Sounded like a dog." Whatever it was yelped again. Ramirez pointed across the street. "Your girlfriend's going to check it out."

"Damn it." Jake ran back around the ambulance in time to catch her approaching the mouth of a back alley. "Hey!" he called.

She stopped and looked at him. "It came from back there," she said, pointing.

"It's only a dog," he said. "Probably just got in a fight. Let it go."

Something about the set of her shoulders and the tilt of her chin told him that he'd said exactly the wrong thing. "Well, how about it, hero? I'm not real keen on playing the part of the dumb blonde girl who goes into the dark alley all by her lonesome."

"Thought you could take care of yourself," he called.

"Now's your chance to prove me wrong." With that, she started into the alley.

"Hey, come back here!" Jake started to follow, but hesitated. He was still on duty. Crossing the street to chat was one thing, but leaving his post to check on a wounded animal? No way could he put a positive spin on that. But he couldn't just stand by and let a woman walk alone down a dark and dangerous street in this neighborhood, either. Even if it would give him a sliver of satisfaction letting her see just how well she could fend for herself in such a scary situation. Maybe it was chauvinistic of him, but he'd never be able to forgive himself if anything happened to her on his watch.

Jake looked back at Ramirez, who jerked his chin encouragingly in the direction of the alley. "I got your back, man," he called. Jake sighed. His warning bells were going off again, even stronger than before, but he attributed that to the thought of being alone with a woman who'd had such a powerful effect on him in such a short amount of time. He was breaking protocol, but he didn't really see a choice in the matter. Duty or no, his personal ethics demanded that he follow her.

So he did.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man at the bus stop tuck his paper under his arm and stand as though expecting something, even though the bus was nowhere in sight. Then he looked straight at Jake. Jake met his gaze, and the man grinned. A slimy chill slid down Jake's back and settled deep in his gut, but he didn't have time to analyze why the man struck him as so wrong. He could see the girl up ahead, getting ready to approach the wounded animal at the other end of the alley. He ran after her.

"Careful!" he called.

"'Bout time, hero," she snarked.

"Name's Jake," he informed her as he caught up with her. She ignored him and crouched beside the dog, which lay on its side, panting and whimpering. "Careful. He could freak out and start biting."

"Shhh," she said, and Jake wasn't sure at first whether she meant him or the dog. Paying his warning no heed, she reached down to stroke its head, burying her fingers in its shaggy brown fur. The dog was big, a mongrel of some sort--part Chow, judging from the dark splotches on its tongue. "It's gonna be okay," she soothed. Then she made a face and pulled her hand away. Her palm was stained a dark red. "He's bleeding."

Jake knelt to inspect the wound, a big ragged tear across the dog's neck. "Looks like something tried to tear his throat out." His senses went on alert, and he scanned the area, wondering how huge and pissed off the other dog must've been to take this one down, and if it was still around. "Come on," he said, standing. "We'll go back to the ambulance and radio animal control. They'll take care of him."

"You mean they'll euthanize him." She shook her head. "Can't you help him?"

"I'm not a vet," he said.

"You're an EMT--"

"Paramedic," Jake corrected.

"How different can it be? C'mon, hero, how do you stop somebody from bleeding?"

Jake opened his mouth to say something about how she shouldn't need him to figure it out for her, but the earnestness on her face as she looked up at him made him forget his irritation. Besides, training aside, it was killing him to see the dog suffering. With a sigh, he knelt back down and snatched the scarf out of her hair.

"Hey!"

"Hope this wasn't expensive," he said. "Hold his head still."

"It was," she said, "but I'll get over it." She did as Jake said, murmuring soothing promises to the dog as Jake wrapped the scarf around its neck. Then he grabbed her already bloodied hand and placed it on top of the wound.

"Keep pressure on it." He sat back on his haunches to examine the situation, then shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I don't know what else to do but call animal control. We can't transport him in the ambulance, and you don't have a car...."

"I have friends who can take care of him," she said, digging in her bag with her free hand. She pulled out a cell phone and started to dial. "They can pick us up and--hello, Kevin?" She paused, then sighed and ended the call. "I got his voicemail." She punched in another number.

"I'll be honest with you," Jake said, eyeing the dog's shallow breathing. "I'll be surprised if he makes it long enough for your friends to--" A scream cut him off. Jake jumped to his feet and whirled toward the mouth of the alley. "That sounded like my partner."

"Should you go check on him?"

"Yeah. Stay here. Be ready to call 911." Jake started forward, but behind him, the girl let out a heart stopping scream. Jake spun back around and came nose to nose with the man in black. He grinned, and then punched Jake in the face, knocking him out cold.

©2007 by Jean Marie Bauhaus

Labels: Eat me