The Vampiric Housewife (11 page)

    
“What the hell is going on?” John demanded turning around in the front seat, his face and hair disheveled. His dark eyes rounded in horror as he saw his sister in disarray, blood trickling down her neck, staining the pink dress. “What the hell did you do to her?”

    
Drew’s dark eyes looked crazed, his blonde hair fell forward into his face. He looked at John then lunged for Amelia again, his teeth bared, his aim for her jugular. Lisa released a high pitched scream that kept going and going and going. Amelia didn’t scream though. She was concentrated on keeping Drew from getting another taste. John got out of the car and pulled Drew off of her as she continued to kick at him.

    
“What the hell! She’s my sister! What the hell do you think you’re doing!” he yelled. People from other cars began turning their attention to them. Drew glared at him then his wild eyes darted to the curious faces peeping out of vehicles. With one final stare at Amelia, his self-restraint waning, he darted off into the night like a wild animal.

    
Breathing hard, John ran a hand through his hair then climbed back into the car. He gripped the wheel, wide-eyed in a state of shock.

    
Lisa was sobbing hysterically, tears and mascara streaming down her face. “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh. I can’t believe that just happened. How did that just happen?
 
Amelia.” She wiped her face smearing the remnants of makeup across her pale cheeks. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry that happened to you. He didn’t—you know, did he?”

    
Amelia shook her head pulling her dress down to cover her legs. “No,” she said quietly.

    
“Good. Good. Is your neck okay? Why did he bite you like that? Like you were a human? That’s so messed up. It’s all so messed up.”

    
“It’s—it’s superficial. I’ll be okay. He barely broke the skin.”

    
“Here,” Lisa said untying the scarf from her neck. “For the blood.”

    
“Thank you.” This had to be what shock felt like, she thought. She shouldn’t be this calm. But she was. She had been crying while Drew was attacking her and her face was tear stained, but no more tears flowed. She should be scared and shaking like Lisa. But adrenaline coursed through her body. She had been attacked, sexually and physically, but that didn’t seem like the important part. She had survived. She fought off a boy who was larger than her, stronger than her. Hell, she almost threw him through a car window. How was that possible? More than anything she wanted to test her new found strength.

    
“You were so brave,” Lisa said but now she was talking to John, hugging him around the neck though it looked more like she was trying to hang him. “He could have—he could have—“ She couldn’t finish the sentence and dissolved into tears.

    
Wordless, John drove Lisa home.

    
“Wait,” she said when John went to get out of the car. She opened her purse, took out some tissue, and cleaned herself up as best she could, but she still looked shaken. John walked her to the door. He was overwhelmed by this horrible premonition that he’d never see her again. That her parents—who had always loved him—would take one look at her and think he had tried to take advantage of her and forbid her from seeing him. Or maybe they’d let her tell the story about Amelia and Drew, but hold it against him because Drew had been his friend or because he put his sister and girlfriend in that situation. Or maybe he didn’t know why. But the terror of never laying eyes on her again, never kissing her again, never being with her was sweeping over him. And she was so scared. So shaken. “It’s all going to be alright,” he said trying to make his voice sound normal, causal, but failed. “You’ll see. I love you.” He kissed her softly on the lips. She didn’t kiss him back, but her body clang to him.

    
“I love you so much!” she cried out in a whisper then quickly turned and went inside.

    
Back in the car, he faced the other girl he had failed to protect tonight. Amelia had moved to the front seat. He rolled out of Lisa’s driveway, but only drove a block before he pulled to the side of the road.

    
“I’m so sorry, Amelia. I should never have set you up with him. I should never have even been friends with him.”

    
“It’s not your fault,” she said softly.

    
“But it is. I knew what type of guy he was. I heard his stories. I had laughed at them with the guys. I thought if I was there . . . that he’d never try anything with my sister because he was my friend. I’m going to take a stake and drive it through his heart for what he did to you.”

    
“I’m okay. I don’t know why I’m okay. But I am. I don’t blame you.”

    
They sat in silence for a moment. He blamed himself. He thanked God that Drew had not raped her or killed her. But Drew had to pay. He deserved to die. John was the one who put his sister in danger. He had to be the one to make it right.

    
“Why do you think he bit me?” she asked quietly.

    
“Because you were fighting him? I don’t know.” Drew always said the girls were willing. Maybe he had been lying.

    
“Did you see me push him off? I thought he was going to break through the door.”

    
“Adrenaline. I can’t believe it took me that long to notice something wasn’t right. I’m your big brother, it’s my job to look after you.”

    
“What are we going to tell Mom and Dad?” she asked. “They’re going to be really upset.”

    
“We’re going to tell them the truth. Once Dad finds out, Drew will get what’s coming to him. I guarantee it.”

Chapter Eleven

Blood-felt Confessions

    
The hearts were deflated, drained of their blood. Except for the two reserved for the doctors, of course. Conversation had flowed beautifully with the ease of a well rehearsed concerto. Well, except for Charlie who dragged the beat down. He barely paid attention to his guests and contributed next to nothing to the discussion. Valerie more than made up for it by being a charming, flattering hostess, but even she couldn’t disguise that his mind was obviously elsewhere.

    
Harry finished his heart, eyed the pantry with resentment then asked to be excused.

    
The party moved back into the living room so they could pass the human around with ease. Valerie noticed Harry’s door cracked open, but sensing a mother’s gaze it quickly slammed shut.

    
The first bite was offered to Marie. Valerie led the swaying human to her.

    
“He looks delicious. You do have a knack for finding the good ones. They always have a lot of blood in them and are never over saturated with sedatives,” Marie said before taking the human’s arm and daintily sinking her teeth into its wrist. The human winced a little but didn’t jerk away. It just continued to sway. “Just as good as he looked,” she said wiping off a drop of blood from her lip.

    
Next it was passed to Valerie who took the left ulnar artery. Her canines broke through the skin and veins like a knife through butter, and the blood spilled into her mouth, metallic and hot. She could feel its warmth run down her throat into the pit of her stomach and spread to the rest of her body. It made her feel slightly lightheaded. Blood straight from a human always left her a little dizzy, but in a good way.

    
After taking her sip, she passed the human along to Dr. Venjamin for a show of politeness because they all knew he would reject it. He gave a humble shake of his head and angled the human towards Dr. Henrick. “If it wasn’t for that stomach bug,” and he sighed before passing it to Rhett who was more than eager for a taste. He stood up and pulled the human’s head back by the hair revealing its long neck. With a smile he sank his teeth into the human’s jugular.

    
“Oh darn,” Marie said. “I got a spot of blood on my dress.”

    
“Hot water and dish detergent. I’ll be right back,” Valerie said.

    
“Charlie,” Rhett offered, his mouth stained red.

    
“You finish him,” Charlie said barely glancing at the man.

    
His smile widened and he drained the body until the human was dead.

    
“Here you go. If you get it before it sets, it won’t stain,” Valerie said handing Marie a towel dabbed with dish soap.

    
The human slumped over. Rhett held him up with relative ease. “Val, what would you like me to do with the body?”

    
“You can just place it in the kitchen. I’ll take care of it later.”

    
“I’ll do it now. We don’t want for him to start to smell. Or to tempt Harry,” Charlie said getting out of the chair. “The bloodman will pick it up when he collects the empty blood bottles. Rhett, you want to help me take the carcass to the curb?”

    
“Yeah.”

    
“It was a splendid evening, Valerie. Great company. Hopefully next time we will be able to indulge in your delicious feast,” Dr Venjamin said standing up.

    
“Leaving so soon? Well, thank you for coming,” she said.

    
“Of course. Give me a call on Monday and we’ll set up an appointment for Harry. I look forward to talking with him.”

    
Both doctors started for the door.

    
“Good to see you, Marie,” Dr. Henrick said. “Valerie, Charlie is a lucky, lucky man.”

    
“Next dinner party is at my house,” Marie said picking up her purse. “Thank you Valerie. Call you soon.” Marie kissed her cheek.

    
“Tell Rhett good morning for me.”

    
And with that, her house cleared out. She began picking up napkins and glasses. It had been a good night. Successful. Except she wasn’t sure if success was what she wanted. Not after Charlie’s aloof, drawn display tonight. This job was getting to be too much for him.

    
In a moment Charlie came back in and collapsed into his chair, a hand covering his face.

    
Valerie kneeled down in front of him and rubbed his knees. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

    
He shook his head.

    
“If it’s this new position at the hospital . . . You don’t have to take it. You make good money now. We’re happy. We have everything we need.”

    
He let out a short, strangled laugh without ever raising his eyes or unveiling his face.

    
“Or if it’s just your job in general . . . we could make due with less. Maybe you could find a job you’d enjoy.” When she still didn’t get any reaction from him, “What I’m trying to tell you is that you can talk to me. Things can change.”

    
At that, he moved his hand away and looked at her, his eyes searching hers. She wasn’t sure what exactly he was looking for though.

    
“I have something to tell you.” He stated it in such a manner that Valerie stood up tall and rigid, a sickness in the pit of her stomach.

    
“What?” she asked in a hard voice. Had she read the signs wrong? Maybe it wasn’t his job that had been wearing him out, but another woman. Was he taking long lunches at work? Was it someone he worked with? The drawn, emancipated look was his guilt eating him, not his job? Did men ever begin any other conversation with that sentence other than one about infidelity?