Endearment is not a gamble

Chapter - 4

The morning sunlight washed over me. Even with my eyes closed the light of the sun still blinded me. I moaned softly and rolled over, my duvet warm and pulled tightly over my body, protecting me from the cold of the night last night. My alarm on my phone rang loudly in my ears, so I felt around the space on the matress next to me for my phone, still with my eyes closed, and eventually was able to turn it off. I lay there for a few more silent moments. I could feel a soft breeze swaying around the room, and I could hear not only my curtains swaying, but the birds in the tree outside my window singing at the summer morning. Despite that and some far away cars in the distance, everything was silent as the city of Southampton still slept. I knew that somewhere in the house my mother would have passed out and forgotten everything about last night. I’ll admit my mind was hazy, and I pondered with my thoughts as I recollected a strange dream I’d experienced. It was all about some guy, I can’t recall his name… Clay I think it was? Yes, that was it. This man I’d met at Jessy’s party had bitten me in an alleyway just a block or so away from the club. He had uttered taunting words that I never wanted to hear again, and looked at me with beautiful emerald eyes that, if I ever saw them again, I would rip them out.

Other than that disturbing dream, everything felt okay this morning. It was going to be a nice day: the sun was up, the birds were singing, summer was still here. The only minor set-back was the headache I experienced as well as a stiff neck.

With a sigh I sat up in my double bed and glanced around my bedroom. The open window was on the wall to my right, and a desk with a computer and some folders atop it sat facing the wall next to my bed, also to my right. My walls were painted a nice violet purple with little odd white starts and curls here and there – something I remember painting with my Dad. My ‘wall of memories’ was directly opposite me, on which had some pictures of our family when we’d been on past holidays together, and some of the friends I’d acquired growing up. Just one friend actually – Selena, but she moved away to Florida when I was in year seven. My acoustic guitar was propped against the corner of the same wall, its case lying underneath it from when I’d recently played it. Then to the right of my closed bedroom door was my chest of drawers, next to which was a full-length mirror. I didn’t have that many possessions, but it was enough.

My body feeling stiff, I stretched before I stood up. I ran my hands through my hair, and almost fell back onto the bed as my head span quickly for a few seconds. This morning, I noted, I was feeling quite irritable and extremely tired. I felt like I’d slept for just an hour or something! Once I’d finally regained my balance, something at my feet caught my eye. So I looked down to see what it was, only for confusion to set in. Dirt coated my feet, as did blood, as if I’d been walking for miles in barefoot. My high heel shoes were dumped by the door I noticed, but I couldn’t recollect taking them off. Or coming home. My short skimpy black dress was ripped ever so slightly at the hems, and a lot of the sequins had decayed off the dress. Slightly startled I stumbled over to the full-length mirror to see what other damage – if any – had been done.

My hair was knotted into clumps here and there, and it hung strangely past my shoulders, the butterfly clip gone. I had panda eyes; my black make up had smudged on my eyelids and beneath my eyes. Black lines streaked down my cheeks as if I’d been crying. Not only that, but my neck was coated with dried blood that looked like it had been there all night. On my palms blood had dried too, perhaps when I’d clutched my neck?

And then it all shot back to me. Before my eyes the entire night’s events flashed before me. It wasn’t a dream – it had been real. It had been very, very real. Clay was real, and he had bitten me. I’d passed out on the dirty floor of the alleyway, and that was as far as my memory went… so how did I get home?

I suddenly felt extremely exposed, and sobs built up in my chest. If Clay had brought me home, he could have done anything to me and I probably would never know. After all, I didn’t remember my dress ripping, and yet somehow it was. What if he’d done something to me? Surely I’d feel it?

I heard a horrible laugh sound at the back of my mind. “It’s not like you’re a virgin though, is it princess?”

Princess. Exactly the disgustingly mocking nickname Clay had called me. With that in mind, my stomach twisted painfully and jumped, and I ran to the bathroom next door to my bedroom just in time to throw up into the toilet. When I’d finished, I flushed the toilet and brushed my teeth three times to get rid of the acidic taste, but it never faded. I was sick to my stomach. It was real.

But vampires were just something you heard in books and on TV and films. They weren’t real, they were just folklore, just myths, just legends. They were, in some cases, made to scare little children witless. And in other cases, such as Twilight, they were incredibly sexy and hot, but they still wanted to drink you dry.

But this wasn’t Twilight. This wasn’t my fantasy, this wasn’t me going all crazy fan-girlish and dreaming up my own Edward Cullen. This was my reality, this was my living nightmare, and I had a feeling this was going to turn into my life.

I didn’t feel thirsty, I didn’t feel different aside my sore neck and my eternal sickness at the thought of being bitten. I was still a human, I was sure of it.

That, however, did not lessen the disgusting, haunting reality of this entire thing.

I ran the bath until the water was just a few centimetres high and sat on the edge of the tub with my feet soaking in the hot water to get rid of the mud. Once I’d done that I dried my feet and then, using a flannel soaked in hot water, I wiped away the blood that was crusted on my neck, not daring to look in the mirror. I brushed the knots out of my blonde hair, changed my clothes into some jeans and a t-shirt, and then I looked in the mirror to inspect my appearance. Everything seemed fine and normal, aside from the tears that welled up in my blue-grey eyes, and the two little puncture wounds against the vein in my neck. The two little wounds were paler than my orSelenary skin colour, and shined in the light – scars. They were scarred into my skin to forever taunt me for however long I was yet to live.

And all I could think about was how I’d never done anything to hurt anybody, so why was I suffering all of this?!

“You deserve it.” My voice said darkly.

I wiped away the silent tears that streaked down my cheeks, and went to turn my computer on. Surely I wasn’t the only one who’d fallen a victim to Clay’s prey. Or maybe the internet could tell me more about vampires – you know, like myths and stuff. If this was reality, and Clay was honestly a vampire – and I’ll be damned if he was a human – then maybe all the other legends and stories and features were true.

I sat waiting patiently for my computer to load, and then I typed in some key words on Google. A news report popped up first from the BBC website, and underneath that was just some stuff about murder investigations and some mythical stories on vampires. Noting that I’d go back to the other stuff, I clicked on the news article by the BBC, bracing myself for what was to come. As the article loaded, my lips twitched with slight fear, but I mustered up the courage to read on:

SOUTHAMPTON SLAUGHTERER STRIKES AGAIN!

In the early hours of yesterday morning, Southampton awoke to another slaughter of a fifteen-year-old girl, who was found dead in her home.

The girl, who was confirmed to be Molly samuels, was found by her mother in their family home in Woolston. The fifteen-year-old had bruisings on her ribs and neck, with traces of seamen on her skirt.

Molly went missing on her way home from school just little less than a month ago, and was last seen by some friends outside a shop, close near where previous kidnaps have happened, so to speak.

The Metropolitan Police arrived at the scene at approximately 11am, on the 24th July after they received a phone call from a very distressed Mrs Samuels. The girl was pronounced dead at arrival, and it was later said that she had died a few hours before being discovered.

Landon Gibson, head of Metropolitan Police, said, “We are shocked and deeply moved at such a gruesome murder, and we are all very determined to bring the killer[s] to justice. We have forensic teams working at the scene and on her body to find any prints, but we appeal to any witnesses whom have seen Molly before her discovery to please come forward.”

Mrs Samuels, mother to Molly, said, “I… I didn’t know what to do. It looked as though she was lying on the sofa asleep, and I instantly had that mothering instinct she had come home. When I realised she wasn’t sleeping… I… I phoned… the police! How… how could someone do such a thing to… to my baby?”

The semen found on Molly’s skirt is being tested for DNA, but there have been no official reports just yet. Elsewhere, DNA and fingerprints are being dusted from other items of her clothing, but apparently there is no match.

Police are referring this case back to Jack the Ripper, since 4/11 of the victims found so far have had a major organ removed, and have been stitched up once more. Because the girls seem to be between the ages of thirteen and twenty, prostitution is not suspected part of this case. Molestation and r**e are, however, proved to have happened to all eleven of the girls. Bite marks and open wounds have been found on all of the victim’s throats, the majority of their blood having been drained, also.

An autopsy is scheduled for Molly samuels to discover whether or not she’ll be the fifth victim to have a missing organ. Police and forensics believe this to be the works of someone whom possesses anatomical or surgical knowledge.

If anyone has any information on this incident, they can either visit their local police station, or call a special hotline; 02380 424522. All identities remain anonymous but calls will be recorded for safety use.

I wasn’t alone in this. I wasn’t the only one he’d attacked. Hell, there were eleven other girls out there that had been slaughtered in inhumane ways, which was ten times worse than the treatment I got. I was still alive, hardly believing my luck and trying to convince myself that it was a delusion, but still alive nonetheless. Eleven other girls were dead, molestation and r**e possible to all of the girls, and four of them having had a major organ removed.

And me?

I just got bitten.

So… maybe there were two different kinds of monsters afoot here. One of which was Clay, and the other was a serial killer out to… what? Get his kick out of molesting and possibly r****g eleven girls? Make his own Frankenstein with the organs he collected?

Or maybe it was still just one sicko at large: Clay. Maybe he wanted me for something different, something that those girls couldn’t give to him. I couldn’t think what, though. I had nothing to give: no love, not a nice body, a terrible past… I had nothing to give to him.

So what the Hell was going on here?

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