Daylight - Book 1 (No Death for the Wicked) (2 page)

Bo arranges her short dress into a more comfortable position and grabs her white Shepherd’s hook.  “Thanks Mattie, I’ll do it, wish me luck.”  I hold my cup up and give her a tiny salute.

“Better watch out what you wish for.” Turning to Elvira, I continue, “If she plays it out right she might just score with a pirate tonight.”  Elvira emulates a laugh that's as annoying as a witch cackling.

“Hey Mattie, what are you supposed to be tonight anyway? You look normal, what are you, too cool for a costume?”

“Well if you must know, I had every intention of being naked Eve, before the whole apple thing, but sadly, I was stopped by Dracula at the gate and was told, ‘no shirt, no shoes, no entry’”.

Elvira rolls her eyes boldly at me and bounces away, wow; I sure hope she doesn’t hurt anyone with those over the top boobs of hers. I stand alone with just me and my thrifty cup and begin scanning the pandemonium on the dance floor, hunting for the host of the party and absently wondering where the hell he is. Well, for the most part the dancing is the typical bump and grind, but there is still something amiss… I can’t quite get my mind around it.  The party is pretty damn good, tons of people have shown up, the music echoes perfectly to a song called, Dark Horses, and it is Halloween!  I would rank tonight as an excellent night so far.  I thrive so well on Halloween. Nobody scoffs at you over your odd behavior or choice in attire simply because it's All Hallows’ Eve. The perk of liveliness is everywhere, laughter meanders about and then I feel a spike in the atmosphere of the room. I glance up from the ridge of my bargain-basement cup to see this insanely tall black shape passing along the opposite wall. I follow the shadow and discover it’s him.  He's at least three or four inches taller than anyone else in the room and he moves so fluently.  He maneuvers around everyone in long, confident strides dressed as Death, complete with a slaying scythe and all, he turns my way and I catch sight of his luring face. 

It's Graham, we make eye contact, and I feel weak in the damn knees and butterflies explode in my stomach. My mouth waters while my head spins, like I just jumped off a Tilt-a-World ride from an amusement park.  I absently try to put my drink on the table without taking my eyes off of Graham, but my coordination fails as the cup spills over, drenching the refreshment table.  I quickly grab gobs of napkins and try clumsily to clean up the spillage.  When I dare a glance back up, he's gone.

I shake my head and try to focus.  What the hell, I can’t even breathe right.  His silhouette is burned into my retinas and when I close my eyes I see him perfectly.  Which is what he is, perfect. I can't formulate any other words to describe him. He's unequivocally tall with broad, strong shoulders. The deepest cobalt blue eyes, that pierce me to the core, and the way his thick raven silk hair falls across his brow makes me brainless.  I’m about to break out in a sweat. Which alarms me, having the condition of anhidrosis, never in my life have I ever broken a sweat and definitely not over a guy.

I start fanning myself without realizing that I’m doi
ng it, but I stop once I do. “Holly hell, Mattie, get a fuckin’ grip will ya.” I utter, while using my control to regain some composure.  I lean over and sniff the punch bowl, wondering if there really is a witch around here that dumped a love potion in the glowing punch, maybe hoping for a spontaneous orgy of some kind.  I take three even breaths, stand, and head toward the kitchen to grab something more durable than these sappy napkins. I step through to a pristine, stainless steel kitchen; stealthily I bypass a few people and rummage through a drawer. A group of guys clothed in an array of barbaric-warrior costumes bust through the doorway, my head whips around as blood splashes to the immaculate floor.

“I told you Bobby to sell that piece of shit car.” Three guys shuffle in, and the middle one, cradles his right hand closely to his faux leather bound chest, streams of brilliant red blood accompanies his every move.

“Man, it ain't my fault, that damn clamp slipped,” the bleeder says as one of them shoves his hand under the running water in the sink.  I stand stiffly holding a roll of paper towels listening to them.

“Let me see it.”

“No, it hasn't stopped bleeding yet.”

“Man, I think you may need some stitches, hell, you practically cut your whol
e damn thumb off!”

Meticulously, I monitor every little thing they do as I clutch the paper towels, my mouth forms more saliva than necessary. The hair on the back of my neck raises, a surge of adrenaline makes my stomach drop and I gawk at the mayhem of red. Panic and dread mingle through my uncontrollable dizzy mind as I try to grasp my reactions before they become irrational. I’m distracted momentarily from my internal struggle by a burly barbarian who shouts at me, “Hey! What the hell are you staring at, huh?”

Shaken out of my fixation I mumble back, “Uh, nothing...here.” And shove the roll of paper towels in his hand. I pivot around before he can spit out another word, and hustle fast out of the bloodstained kitchen.  Pushing, sometimes rudely, through the crowd, I reach the other side.  Contemplating if upstairs has a vacant bathroom where I can regroup in private; I hurry up the stairs like a mad woman and pass two girls whispering.  The mention of Graham's name has my full attention.

“I can't believe he's with Valerie, I heard he wasn't into blondes.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Carrie told me that she—
” A board creaks loud enough to wake the dead as I patrol by them and instantly their glaring eyes watch me like a hawk. I give a nonchalant glare back and march on to find a bathroom. I rap my knuckles across the first five locked doors, and almost decide to just forget it, when I'm drawn to a slightly ajar door at the end of the hall. I halt myself from taking another step; do I really want to see what's behind this door?  Muffled tainted groans eject out, and my damnable feet carry me closer. Pressing my face to the wooden door frame, my breathing becomes shallow, and I know he's in here with that hussy, Valerie.  My eyes greedily scan the bed, only to find a small portion is visible. Tangled blonde curls blanket across the pillow, as still as night. I catch a glimpse of her pale unanimated face as Graham walks around the bed fully dressed. The only conclusion I can come up with is she passed slam out on him before they swapped carnal knowledge. 

I back away before anyone takes notice of my picketing outside Graham's door. Retracing my steps, I head down the broad mahogany stairway, propelling my unhappy way through a crowd of 1940's murdered medical staff. I scoffed at the bogus clumps of blood and eye impaled syringe.  Shifting through the riffraff, I peg a bathroom just three steps in front of me.  My hand reaches for the brass doorknob when I'm rudely jostled out of the way. “Hey!” I shout meeting the face attached to the body that bulldozed by me. My menacing scowl doesn't affect him.

“Move it! I'm about to hurl!” Dropping my glower, I can see he's three sheets to the wind, his skin graying by the minute, his eyes watering, and he's hugging his stomach. I release the knob and move back. The door slams shut and I slide against the ancient wallpapered wall, knees bent, my arms drape over as I casually flick the tiny metal clasp on the zipper of my jacket. A few seconds later a commotion barrels down the stairs, I'm half-way hoping it's Graham, disgusted with his zonked out lay. But I'm sadly disappointed when two guys, not branded with a costume, approach seeming to be on the hunt for something, or rather someone.

“Well? Where is he? Where's Drake?” Neither one take further action, not even articulate another word, they both stare down at me.

I aim my thumb in the direction of the bathroom, trying like hell to keep the smirk off my face. I pop off, “Your friend, he's in there praying to the porcelain gods Ralph and Earl.” That scores me the best stupefy expression I've seen all night. To enhance the moment even more, the resound from the bathroom flows under the doorway sublimely. “Raaaalllpphhh! Eaaaarrrrlll!” The profuse puking noise eventually has everyone distance themselves. I have the area quarantined for a few minutes and I resume my fidgeting. The steel plated clasp hooked to my zipper shines back and forth as the low lights hit it, and I wonder if I'll ever have a chance to see Graham's deep blues reflect my image as he ascends over me. A gruff sigh rushes out of me. Distraught, I wonder if this is all the excitement I'll get on this trick or treating night.

Graham

The air is rich, thickly enticing, and filled with the wealth of life as I make progress through the congested room, when I see the brown-eyed girl radiating across the room. I'm not surprised to find her, wearing her habitual clothing, the nostalgic long black leather jacket which shrouds her voluptuous figure. Her ringlets of dark untamed, wavy hair are pulled back tonight away from her immodest face. A scowl is emitted to anyone looking at her, until, she sees me.

I prolong the sensual glance long enough to
affect her, mesmerized myself because she actually seems unfazed before she spills her drink. Empty of any raw emotions I don't take the time to linger and begin to scour for my next mark. But still, her haunting aphotic eyes reside permanently in the back of my mind. She's different than the others. And I sense this, even though I have never been close to her. Perhaps tonight my savoring for her will be quenched. The ever building desire and hunger that I endlessly crave urges me on.

“Hey, Grim Reaper. Love the whole black-cloaked, scythe-wielding personifica
tion of death you have going on,” a peppy blonde comments as I walk by. I center my attention on her supporting myself with my scythe eying her costume.

“You
know, Valerie, I have to say Halloween has definitely become way more appealing over the years. I'm not in the least bit intimidated by you, rather more turned on.”

She twirls the silky red ribbons that hang loosely from her sexy corset, flashing me a sly pearly white smile she whispers, “Well, maybe I'll go find an hourglass, mister.”

I return my best seducing smile and quip back, “Why, are you waiting for the last grains of sand to fall before I have you in my bed?”

“No, silly, I'm waiting for you to come and collect my soul. Take my heart, and guide me into the underworld.” I'm growing unconcerned and less attracted to her by the second. Normally, I relish in this type of rhetorical foreplay, but I am not sure that my normal means of reaching satisfaction still apply now. I need to move on to something that needs less coaxing.

I straighten my stance and deliver my farewell, “Later Val.” I strut away leaving her flustered. First things first, walking out into the openness behind the house I observe the decadence of the human race and breathe in its luscious essence of vitality. Appraising over the human ménage currently occupying the area and find what I seek.  It is a basic skill of mine, finding souls in despair. The soft audible weeps quicken my pace, the scenario of events whirl in my thoughts.

She's alone, lost in her own sorrow, it's apparent as night and day. She's been tossed aside, brokenhearted for her lack of understanding in the ways of the virile need in a typical male. He's abandoned her for someone else that will spread them on a whim. Some men embrace the challenge, but if it becomes too plaguing they take the easy way out. My assistance shall be painless I assure her as I gently probe her mind. 

“Graham? What are you doing out here?” Discreetly, she tries to wipe her tears away, sniffling with each word.

I seat myself next to her, a facade of concern, imbued with pity I ask, “Why are you not inside, enjoying the party?” Maintaining my focus on her bleak blue eyes, a weary glint casts over her face. Fear, I can smell it. Inhaling the divine scent, and yearning for more. I rest my finger against her soft lips soothing her uneasiness, “Shushhh, shusshh,
its okay, no need to worry now.” A fine lock of her amber hair falls forward, eclipsing her flushed innocent face, I tuck it behind her ear and take her hand. “Come.” She's no more than nineteen years old, young and full of indecisiveness. I catch her nervous gaze and nudge her mind to follow me. That's all it takes and she becomes enthralled as we retreat away from the cluster of bodies, to the lonesome and private boathouse. Hidden within darkness is a natural state for me, but for some, an aversion of not knowing what is within, the treacherous dark, sparks a quiver of terror down to the bone.

“No fear,” I whisper faintly in her ear and she relaxes in my arms. Once we enter the boathouse I find ample room near a rowing boat that shifts back and forth desolately along the water. 

Her eyes elect a desire to please and I allow this feeling to penetrate me. Pulling as much of it to the surface as I can.  Not too much, but just enough to kindle the amour. Carefully, I hold her delicate body closer, not wanting any premature endings.  I embed my lusting ambitions to cloud her judgment; again she submits to me and begins disrobing.  This display bears no real significance, only to entertain me. Her feminine figure is quite intriguing, and therefore worth the view. I cup her breast and lower myself to sample the sweet and tender flesh. Delaying each languid stroke of my tongue, I nip and suck at the crest of her tight round nipples. On cue she angles her head back and ushers out a sinful moan.  I trail my tongue across her other supple breast and slide it downward along her warm lush skin, as I bury myself with her taste.

Panting, breathless, and weakened, she collapses in my arms. My opportunity unveils itself and I press my lips to hers, lacing our tongues together in a
n intimate dance with death. My hand clamps an unyielding hold around her neck, as I suck the essence of life out of her. Crushing my mouth fiercely over hers, drinking in her silent screams, watching her once blue eyes become hollowed out and ghastly gray. Siphoning through her memories, she beckons me with a paling expression. Her muffled grunts and agonizing sobs quickly ebb away and I'm finally able to view her life, the moments in time that she cherished the most, the times she feared the most, to the first time she had sex to the last thought before she dies.