Also from 1999:
Exquisite. Purely and simply exquisite.
He thought it quite possible that he'd finally stumbled into Paradise.
A lifetime of aimless rambling had led him to this piss-scented
hell-hole of a roadhouse on the outskirts of one more godforsaken
Midwest town, and into the presence of the angel he'd been afraid
existed only in his fantasies. And this one was more than an angel,
far superior to those that had come before. He knew she was his own
dark bride, his intended, at long last arrived.
She paused momentarily at the entrance of the backwoods tavern, bathed
in the crimson glow of the exit sign. Poised and self-assured in
three-inch black patent heels, she was a vision in black. Blue-black
silk encased her upper body, open at the throat to better display the
creamy skin of her breasts, and tight sleeves buttoned around her
delicately pale wrists. Buttery soft black leather hugged her narrow
hips, ending just beneath the shelf of her curved buttocks, and filmy
black stockings encased the curves of her calves.
Shining coal black hair lay upon her shoulders and cascaded down her
back. A slender, jet-tipped finger toyed absently with the curl
nearest her cleavage. He'd abandoned himself to her sparkling ebony
eyes at first glance.
Her hips swayed slightly beneath the thin leather skirt as she glided
through the dimly lit bar. As she neared, Rand's ragged breath caught
in his dry throat, and he stood, stepping into her path. He extended
his hand. "You were born to wear black." The words slid smoothly off
his tongue, without a hint of mockery.
"It's my favorite color." She gazed at him from beneath dusky,
feathered lashes and laid her slender hand in his. Her moist scarlet
lips glittered in the dim lights of the bar. "Buy me a drink?"
He gestured to the empty stool beside him and watched appreciatively
as she slid onto it. The hem of her skirt rose one delectable inch,
affording him a brief glimpse of lace-topped stockings and a
breath-taking promise of ivory thighs before she primly pulled it back
into place. A dream come true. He sighed inaudibly and held up two
fingers to the bartender. The drinks deposited in front of them, Rand
leaned toward her, letting the tips of his fingers brush the nape of
her neck through the veil of black hair. "Do you come here often?"
She laughed at the weary old line, then quickly sobered, her eyes
glazing over and drifting to some point to the left of his shoulder.
"Too often," she said, her voice barely audible above the bass that
thumped from over-sized speakers. She sipped from the heavy
ice-filled bar glass, then licked her lips and smiled up at him. "I'm
Gena."
"Rand." He encased her delicate hand in his own once again, then
lifted it to his lips. "I'm so very pleased to meet you."
Rand looked into her dark, dark eyes, and was momentarily disconcerted
by what he thought he saw. It was true that she wasn't like the
others, he had seen it--known it--felt it-immediately. If she had
been, she wouldn't have been "the" one. But still, he hadn't expected
that ephemeral flicker of depravity in her dark eyes. He blinked, and
it was gone, if it had ever been there, replaced by the predictable
gaze of expectant adoration that they all eventually wore, no matter
how blasi and jaded they initially pretended to be. His social grace
and practiced sincerity ultimately won them all over, to their final
and lasting regret. So, had it been wishful thinking, that glimmer of
corruption in the depth of her eyes? he wondered. _Surely not,_ he
scoffed to himself. More likely a reflection of one of the neon beer
signs that hung over the bar.
Breathing into Gena's ear, Rand excused himself and headed to the
men's room at the back of the bar. As he passed through the pool
room, his attention was momentarily captured by a thin-waisted bottle
blonde in faded denim cut-offs. She grasped the pool cue she was
holding in both hands and arched her back, jutting her jean-clad
bottom in his direction. He felt a familiar stirring in his groin,
but a quick glance back toward the bar reminded him that soon no other
woman would be necessary. He had no further use for the inelegance of
a common whore. His search was over, he had found his soul-mate
tonight.
Once in the small, dimly lit restroom, he entered one of the two
stalls, wrinkling his aristocratic nose at the overpowering stench of
urine, and locked the door behind him. A quick search of his jacket
pockets located the small, clear plastic bullet filled with high-grade
cocaine. All he needed tonight was two small blasts. His chance
encounter with the love of his life had set his heart to racing on its
own, as if he'd snorted an entire eight-ball.
He sprinkled a bit of the white powder on his forefinger and rubbed it
across his gums, savoring the immediate numbness as the stuff he'd
snorted drained down the back of his throat. "Bring on the dental
surgeon," he chuckled derisively.
Rand swept out of the bathroom stall and did a quick nostril check in
the smoke-filmed mirror that hung haphazardly over the rust-stained
sink. _Looking good,_ he thought. _As usual._ It had taken him a
few days to get used to his new look, but he knew it was a winner.
Aqua contacts masked the run-of-the-mill brown eyes and he'd shorn his
shoulder length brown hair to just a quarter of an inch all over his
well-shaped head, then bleached it nearly white. In a few days the
dark outgrowth would be noticeable, but that would be okay, too. By
then he, and Gena, would be half a continent from this shit-kicking
tavern and wouldn't that be fine? He thought it would.
He stepped back into the smoke and music of the bar-room, his eyes
immediately seeking his new-found love.
She sat on the same barstool, legs crossed primly. Instead of waiting
patiently for him to return, though, she was gazing raptly into the
face of a biker looking dude. She held a drink in one hand (the drink
Rand himself had bought her, no doubt), while she ran the narrow tip
of her opposite forefinger around its edge. Rand couldn't hear what
the biker was saying, but Gena's glittering eyes never left his face,
and she grinned wickedly when the man traced a rough-skinned thumb
across her silken knee. _So much for finding the love of my life,_
Rand thought.
The blood rushed to Rand's head, then pound furiously in his chest.
It wasn't the effect of the cocaine, he knew, but his incredible
rage. Gena was no different from the rest, it seemed. He thought
he'd finally found the woman of his dreams, the love of his life, and
she was no different than any of those other sluts. _It never
failed,_ he thought. Rand took a deep, shuddering breath, swallowing
the wad of coke-laden snot at the back of his throat and contemplated
going back into the john for another blast. No, he'd save it for
later-it looked like he was going to need it.
Gena glanced up as he neared, her dark eyes barely widening. The
biker had turned and headed toward the bank of pool tables, and Gena
cunningly ignored his departure. She certainly didn't seem
uncomfortable that he'd caught her in what amounted to adultery.
Grasping Rand's forearm, she pulled him nearer.
"Come closer, lover." Her voice was silky smooth beneath the blare of
the honky-tonk jukebox. "Why don't we get out of here?"
Rand snorted and glanced toward the smoke-hazed pool tables. "What
about your friend?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." Gena's gaze didn't flicker
from his face as her fingers slowly traced the hairs on his forearm.
She was good, Rand would give her that much, but he knew exactly what
kind of bitch she was.
"Sure, " he said, forcing a grin. "Let's get the hell out of here."
Might as well get this over with, he thought. So I can get out of
this piss-waddle little town and find my true love.
Arm in arm, they threaded their way toward the exit and out into the
night. Once they reached the parking lot, Gena paused beneath the
neon glow of the bar sign and pulled Rand around to face her.
Their eyes locked and she brought her moist crimson lips to his. Her
tongue flickered over his lips and teeth, and he found himself aroused
against his will. Rand pulled away, uncertainty and doubt clouding his
mind. He was losing control of the situation. He pulled away from
Gena's embrace and turned his back to her, his counterfeit aqua blue
eyes staring at nothing. Gena stepped nearer, her hands on his
shoulders, her nails tracing the sides of his neck. She flicked her
tongue along the nape of his neck.
"How can I be sure you're the one?" His voice was nearly inaudible,
and he fought the urge to turn and look into her eyes. "How do I know
you're not like the rest?" Gena's narrow fingers caressed his cheek.
"I've searched for you for so long. What if you're not the one?" Rand
turned to face her. He'd never asked the others these questions, and
couldn't believe he was asking them of Gena. Especially since he knew
what she really was. The memory of the biker's greasy fingers on her
knee flashed in his mind.
"You know I exist," Gena laughed, the sound of broken beer bottles
against a wall. Her dark eyes glittered. "I exist, and you want me.
Isn't that enough, Rand?" Intense heat radiated off her and washed
over him, despite the coolness of the evening. It felt good. Gena's
hands snaked beneath his shirt and rested on his chest. He felt the
thrum of blood beneath her fingertips.
"It is enough, isn't it?" she breathed. "We were meant to be, Rand. I
pray for you each night, the same way you've prayed for me. I am your
intended." Rand gazed into the dark pools of her eyes and her voice
became distant, overpowered by the thud of his own pulse in his ears,
and the thrum of her blood in the tips of her fingers as she traced
them over his rapidly cooling skin.
Gena stepped closer, laid her lips against his cheek. "I'm your bride,
Rand. Make me your wife."
Rand shuddered and his flesh grew icy His strength and authority was
being drained. Somehow, they'd moved from the parking lot in front of
the bar to his van. The keys were in his hand, and his angel stood
beside him in the darkness. He felt her pulse as her fingertips rested
upon his neck. The ring of keys chattered in his fingers as he rushed
to unlock the door. As soon as it was open, Gena's body fell against
his and they tumbled into the van.
He hurriedly pulled the door of the van shut behind them, before she
could see the interior, then reached for her in the darkness. He'd
nearly lost his self-restraint, but now that he was in his own
territory, he was back in control. Rand pushed Gena back onto the
upholstered cot that took up the rear of the van and ran his hands
over her body. It was a shame that she'd turned out to be no
different than the others, it would make him sad to do away with her.
Gena was truly exquisite.
Rand pulled the black silk blouse away from her skin and buried his
face between her breasts. "I am yours, lover," she breathed. "And you
are mine." Rand grabbed her face between his hands and covered her
lips with his. He needed to shut her up, it was her voice that
confused him, the words that she whispered.
Gena's luscious lips consumed him, nibbling and chewing the flesh of
his lips. Rand gagged and tried to pull away. The bitch had drawn
blood!
She flipped him over, she was stronger than he could have imagined.
He lay flat on his back, too weak to move, and still her lips and
teeth traveled over his face and neck. He felt the hot gout of blood
as she sunk her teeth into his throat and his hand wavered weakly
toward the wall of the van. _If I could just reach my tools,_ he
thought. His chest was soaked with his own blood, hot and slippery,
and still Gena kissed him.
"I am your destiny, Rand," she said, leaning into to him, his blood
dripping from her lips and teeth. "And you are mine." Her voice faded
as oblivion overtook him.
There would be no more for Rand. No more searching for the love of his
life, and no more disappointment. Gena's exquisite face filled the
last of his visions. His warm blood spilled from her fangs and onto
the carpet of the van, mingling with the blood of those that had gone
before. And he could only gaze at her and think, "Exquisite. Purely
and simply exquisite."
----------
Headline on page one of the Dalton City Times-Press, November 1, 1999:
"HAS THE RASH OF UNEXPLAINED MURDERS IN THE MIDWEST COME TO A CLOSE
WITH THE DISCOVERY OF A KNOWN SERIAL KILLER'S BODY?"
--
Just how much DO I love my husband?
).
