July 4; OR Just another Vampire Day

July 4; OR Just another Vampire Day

Copyright Althea Infante 2011

copyright Leslie Ormandy 2011 ALL rights reserved

I thought I might share this since at this point, I have no plans for continuing it. It is going to appear in  segments through 4 July. I hope you enjoy it. 

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The explosion of sound filled the night sky with pops of light in a wonderful strobe effect. Sarah loved the explosion; it screened the sound of men’s screams. No need to find a sound-proof room or lure them to a deserted field in the middle of nowhere. She could kill them close to where they had hunted her when they thought her just a helpless runaway whom they could easily use and turn out. The advantage of never looking her age; looking sixteen and “innocent” forever.

The Greyhound pulled into the downtown terminal at 10:00 PM. It was late, but that was actually alright with her since it meant she easily blended in with the riders bustling around waiting for the driver to unload their bags. She waited until the passengers began moving toward the exit with their waiting friends and families, waited until the bus driver slammed the baggage hatch closed before she moved into a patch of streetlight and let the light pick her out. She looked lost and helpless and friendless in her really distressed jeans, too tight Goth inspired tee, tatty graying hooded cardigan, and heavy duty goth makeup.

Sarah had him picked out long before he came up to her. She was bait. After all the long years, she knew how to catch her meal.

“Are you waiting for someone?” He had asked as he appeared out of the darkness over by the car park. He’d also been waiting for the driver to leave so he could see if there was any fresh meat washing up that night.

“My brother is supposed to be picking me up,” she told him, making it obvious though her expression and body language that she was lying as she pulled her threadbare sweater tighter around her shoulder so that her breasts stood out. She needed to set the hook well, make it clear that she was hungry.

“This isn’t a safe place for a young lady to wait alone. Can I buy you a soda or something at the picnic across the way while you wait? You should be able to see him from there. We won’t go far.” Wilton knew it was safe to offer; in this crowd, who would remember him, and no one would tip that he wasn’t from this town.

She put her most trusting face on as she agreed, nervously twisting the escaping strand of hair, “I guess that would be all right.”

“I’m Wilton Courtney,” he informed her, slipping his arm around her shoulder to lead her across to the field. “My daughter was supposed to be arriving home from college on that bus, but I guess she’s been delayed.”

“I’m Sarah,” and Sarah hesitated just the right length of time to indicate she was making up the last name, “Hart.”

 Wilton kept up a line of friendly patter as he bought her the promised soda and a hotdog. He wanted to appear friendly, but fatherly, to keep her on the hook. He was practically salivating as he looked obliquely at her slim body displayed in the goth clothing. It wouldn’t do to let her slip the hook. It had been two months since he’d found a suitable runaway to play with.

“My blanket is set over there,” he told her, gesturing over to the far corner of the field. “You can still see the bus station, but you can watch the fireworks also.”

Sarah let the line of patter wash over her as she let him lead her to his blanket. She let him see nervousness as she sat down on the blanket pulling her knees up to her chest and balancing the plate atop them. She checked the now vacant bus station, the people around her who barely noted the arrival of the two strangers in their midst, and the preparations for the next burst of fireworks to be sure no one was watching.

She took a bite of the hotdog, then turned her head and spat it out into her crumpled napkin – just like she done with broccoli as a child, then pretended to take a sip from her soda cup.

He watched her with hidden interest, waiting for her to turn away long enough for him to slip the roffie into her soda. Then he would sit though the rest of the firework display and carry his sleeping “daughter” to the waiting van. From there, he would driver her to his warehouse where he could have some fun with her before selling her overseas thoroughly broken in. 

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More of this story will appear throughout the month.