Nightwalkers Page 3

  Briefly, Jackie considered going back for her faux-fur collared jacket and then decided against it. She'd drop in somewhere for a drink and warm up. That was it.

  Then she'd hurry home before the drink wore off.

  Or maybe she'd meet a man who'd take her in his car and in his arms and to some warm place…

  No, scratch that. That was a Jacynthe thought. Forget it.

  And, for God's sake, forget Jacynthe!

  Down her side of the street, Jackie's eye was caught by the flickering blue and green neon sign of 'The Cave', which Jackie knew of, though she'd never been inside.

  It was one of those phony Goth places popular with a slightly younger crowd, where the guys all wore tuxes spotted with pseudo-blood, false fangs, spiked black hair and scarlet lipstick to make them look like Transylvanian transvestites from the Rocky Horror Picture Show. The girls, on the other hand, adopted the pose of the vampire's victim, with two little red tooth marks on their necks, a ghastly pallor, and dark circles under their eyes, being complemented with the tightest black sheaths and slacks.

  She'd certainly fit right in with the girls, Jackie thought. She didn't even need any makeup to hollow her cheeks or darken the circles under her eyes.

  Just the place for that drink. She'd blend right in there.

  Jackie marched up the stairs just like a regular patron and entered The Cave.

  However, any hope of anonymity was shattered before she was five feet from the door.

  "Jackie!" a voice shrieked over the din of conversation, cutting through the brimstone smoke. Jackie turned to see a sleek, grotesque beauty standing and waving across the room at her. "It's me! Brandie! Brandie Barron!"

  Jackie might not have recognized her, but for the fire siren voice. Brandie worked at Esoterikon, too, as a filing clerk and usually she had the kind of apple-cheeked cuteness that made you think of small towns and Harvest Dances. Tonight, however, in what looked to be an ebony burial shroud which bared her pale shoulders and arms, her deep-set eyes and gaunt cheeks, she looked like death not quite warmed over—more like tomb temperature.

  Thus her bright smile stood out in contrast to her graveyard garb.

  "We've got a free chair over here!" Brandie called. "Why don't you join us?"

  Why not? Jackie thought. Brandie was usually good for a few laughs. And the two chairs that weren't free were occupied by men, the one whose face she could see not bad looking.

  Accordingly, she threaded her way through the tables to where Brandie was now seated.

  As she approached, the two men rose.

  "Jackie, this is my fiance, Tom Melrose," Brandie indicated the 'not bad looking' one.

  "Hi," he grinned through false fangs.

  "And this is Conor," Brandie continued. "Sorry, I don't know your last name."

  "I haven't given one," the man answered. "But it's Montrose. Conor Montrose."

  He turned to Jackie and their eyes locked, her sea-green ones and his like mine shafts, jet black and bottomless. Jackie felt a tremor vibrate through her—one that began as a chill in her spine, but quickly became a fire in her belly.

  "Hello…Jackie, is it?"

  His voice was like warmed cognac and Jackie felt the shudder start again.

  "Y…yes," she stammered.

  Conor seemed to consider that for a few moments, though his eyes never left Jackie's.

  "No," he said at last. "That's not right. 'Jackie' doesn't suit you at all. You're more a…"

  He paused as if to think, but he might as well not have. Jackie knew what was coming long before he finished the sentence.

  "More like a Jacynthe," he said.

  Chapter Two

  Jackie felt her legs turn to jelly and she sat down hurriedly before she fell.

  The next two hours were spent in a dark fog that was thicker than that of The Cave itself. Vaguely, Jackie heard Brandie rattling on in her gatling-gun voice and she and Tom, her fiance, laughing raucously. But she herself was totally lost in the deep pits of Conor's eyes, where barely discernible dangers lurked like daemons in the caves of a fathomless ocean.

  However, after two hours of saying nothing except with their eyes, Jackie was completely convinced that Conor knew everything there was to know about her—while she knew absolutely nothing, zilch, zero, zip —about him.

  Except that he was the most handsome man she had ever seen.

  She would see that face all night in her dreams, she knew. Its high forehead and cheekbones, its strong jaw, its wide and sensuous mouth and…Oh, God, those eyes! He wore no Goth-style makeup and needed none to be the most frighteningly suave and virile creature in the room. Hell, in the city…maybe in the world.

  "It's eleven o'clock, Jacynthe," Conor's rich voice penetrated her thoughts. "I think we better be going now."

  "Going…where?" Jackie said hazily.

  "Well, I'd suggest your apartment for you," he smiled, showing straight white teeth – naturally, she thought. "I suppose you live nearby."

  "Just a couple of blocks…I think" God, was she disoriented or what? "I know I walked, anyway."

  "Well, that's something. Nice to see you're coming back to this world."

  They said their goodnights to Brandie and Tom, and Conor took her arm and guided her across the crowded room. As they went, Jackie was acutely aware of every single person's eyes following them—especially those of the women who were obviously just as mesmerized by him as she was. She half expected to find them leading a long line of spellbound women out into the November night.

  Then, as they stepped out into the cold air, he asked,

  "Okay, which way?"

  "To where?"

  "Your apartment, dear," he answered, tolerant of her vapidity. "I plan to walk you home."

  "That's very nice of you," Jackie said.

  "Not at all. In your present state you could get seduced by some unscrupulous fellow…like me."

  "Really?"

  "Really," Conor nodded. "And the worst thing would be you probably wouldn't remember the experience. I always say, when a girl gets seduced, she should at least be able to enjoy the good parts. Now which way was it?"

  "This way, I think," Jackie said. "Yes, I remember The Cave was on the same side as my apartment building."

  "Street number?"

  "Twelve-forty."

  "Then we're there."

  "What?"

  "You're in front of your building now."

  Jackie looked.

  "Why, so I am. It seems to me we just left The Cave."

  "Time flies when you're having fun."

  "I'm sorry I was so dozy tonight," Jackie said. "I assure you, I'm not usually like that. But it can't have been much fun for you."

  "On the contrary, I could spend many evenings gazing into those gorgeous eyes," Conor said gallantly. "How about doing it again?"

  "God…" Jackie gasped. That was more than she ever could have prayed for. "Like when?"

  "Like tomorrow night? Suppose I pick you up about seven and we go to dinner? Say Mario's for seafood linguini?"

  "I'd love that," Jackie enthused. Maybe she was being incautious, but it sure as hell beat sitting alone in her kitchen with a frozen shepherd's pie. "But I'm being thoughtless. Wouldn't you like to come up for a nightcap?"

  "Rain check on that?" Conor asked, kissing her lightly on the forehead. "I'm sure we're going to have many nights for nightcaps. Many late nights."

  "God, how I wish!" Jackie sighed as he walked off down the dark and windblown street, passing under a flickering streetlight and vanishing into the darkness.

  She put a finger on the spot on her forehead where his lips still seemed to burn.

  Chapter Three

  The alleyway was something out of T.S. Eliot. Pages of old newspapers scuttled over the cracked pavement, burying the discarded condoms as they piled up in the doorways. Wisps of gray November snow swirled over the ground to form tiny drifts in corners. A scrawny cat with one eye and a bald patch of mange crept d
own one wall, saw it was not alone in its usual retreat, and scurried off into the street. The streetlamp at the far end of the alley flickered as the ancient bulb slowly died, making the shadows seem to move as if alive.

  Then, under the streetlight, a figure appeared, short bleached-blonde hair glowing coldly under the neon, tight jeans-jacket wrapped around her youthful breasts against the cold, red high heels teetering uncertainly over the broken concrete.

  Not much, she thought. Certainly not as warm as she'd have if business had been better. But at least it was out of the wind.

  Picking up newspapers as she went, she moved into the deeper darkness of a doorway, sat down with her back in a corner between the wall and the door, covered herself with the flimsy blanket of paper and closed her eyes.

  Perhaps she'd sleep. And maybe, during that sleep, she'd be lucky enough to freeze to death.

  People said that was a nice way to go…but how could they be sure…?

  "Excuse me, miss?"

  Her eyes flew open at the sound of a deep male voice.

  "Wha…what you want?" she stammered. "This your place, Mister? I'm sorry. I wasn't going to do anything. Just sleep here for a while. So help me."

  "If you try to sleep here, you'll never see tomorrow," the man said and she realized he wasn't angry. "I wouldn't want that on my conscience…or my doorstep, so to speak."

  "But I got no place else to go," the girl protested.

  "Yes, you do," he chuckled low in his throat. "You guessed right the first time. This is my place. The back door, anyway. And, inside, it's warm."

  "Jeez."

  "And there's even a couch you could sleep on."

  "Holy shit! Are you offering?"

  "Depends."

  "On what?"

  "Depends on whether I've got you sized up right."

  "I'm a hooker, if that's what you mean," the girl nodded. "Though maybe that was a mistake. Admitting it, I mean."

  "Not at all. My hobby is to protect hookers from the dangers of the streets. By the way, what's your name?"

  "Ellie. What's yours…sir?"

  "Just call me Sir. It's all you need to know. Come in, why don't you, Ellie?"

  "Why don't I indeed?" Ellie giggled. Jeez Louise, she'd probably just been spared from freezing to death. For another night, anyway.

  Sir took a key from his pocket, opened the door, led Ellie down a long, dark hall and into the most beautiful old-style room she'd ever seen. A deep-pile oriental rug covered the floor from wall to wall in deep reds and greens. A plush sofa and matching easy chair, done in plain burgundy velvet and flanked by Tiffany lamps dominated the centre, and a mahogany bar with more booze bottles than she'd seen outside a hotel bar ran the entire length of one wall.

  "Wow," she gasped, "some place to hang your hat, eh?"

  "Will this couch be all right for you?"

  "All…all right?" Ellie stammered. "It's a damn sight better than that alley, I'll tell you."

  Then she felt a pang of conscience.

  "But shouldn't I be paying you something for all this?"

  "But you can't have any money," Sir said. He was standing at the bar now, facing away from her and Ellie realized she'd never seen his face. "If you had, you wouldn't have been going to sleep in my alley."

  "That's true. But there's more than one way to skin a cat, as us hookers say."

  "You're offering me your body." It wasn't a question.

  "It'd make me feel a lot better about accepting your couch and all."

  "In that case, I accept."

  He walked over to a door in the side wall.

  "Get undressed and turn out the lights," he said. "I'll be back in a moment."

  "Can't we get undressed together? Guys usually prefer that."

  "The condoms are in the bathroom. You want to practise safe sex, don't you?"

  "Safe sex, sure," Ellie joked. "But with me it's not practice."

  "We'll see about that," Sir said, closing the door behind him. "Now, do as I said."

  "Yes, Sir," Ellie answered through the door.

  She peeled the jeans-jacket down her arms and draped it over the easy chair. Then, as she wore no other shirt beneath that, she unhooked her bra and laid it on top of the jacket, thinking that, maybe, if she were really good to Sir tonight, she could cadge a warm shirt from him. A guy with a place like this just had to be outdoorsy. Then she eased her red high heels off her blistered feet and kicked them under the chair. Her jeans and panties followed onto the top of the pile on the chair. Then she sat on the sofa and wondered if she should leave her knee-highs on. Some men found that sexy.

  However, on consideration, she decided that Sir probably wasn't one, so she tugged them off and threw them at the chair. They both missed.

  Then, before she turned off the lamps, she took a few moments to admire her body.

  Nice tits, she thought. They'd really filled out in the four months since she turned nineteen. And her gut was good and flat, leading a guy's gaze to travel over her shaved pubis and down her long, slim legs to her ankles and almost-dainty feet. Her face might not be that of any raving beauty, she admitted, though she had big blue eyes. And her talented mouth more than made up for any deficiencies. Thus the overall package was worth the two hundred clams an hour she demanded.

  Besides, in the dark all whores were the same, they said.

  And this one was going to be in the dark.

  Pity, she thought, that Sir was going to be deprived of her good points, just because of some strange desire to have her in the dark.

  Oh, well, it was getting her a warm night's sleep and maybe breakfast…and a warm shirt, if she played her cards right.

  She leaned over, one way and then the other to turn out the Tiffany lamps and then lay back on the sofa, luxuriating in the elegant feeling of the velvet against the skin of her back and buttocks.

  She heard the door open and close across the room.

  "I'm ready. Are you?" Sir's low voice asked.

  God, but it sounded sexy in the dark!

  "Naked as a baby, but hardly as innocent," Ellie tried to imitate his libidinous, throaty purr.

  "Then face the back of the couch," Sir said.

  An ass man, was he? Ellie thought. Oh, well, she'd taken it that way, both in the pussy and up the ass many times before. But she'd sure demand that warm shirt for an anal job.

  She felt the cushions of the sofa sag as his weight pressed upon them and then he was against her, his hairy body pressing on her from the shoulders to the backs of her knees. She felt his arms go under her armpits and his long fingers grasp her breasts, catching her nipples between two fingers and tweaking them to sensitive little points. At the same time, his warm breath exhaled against her neck and a little shiver of delight ran down her spine.

  God, he was good, she thought.

  This trick was going to be really good!

  His mouth descended on her now and she felt his teeth nibbling at the top of her neck, chewing lightly on the tender flesh at her hairline. At the same time, his right hand left her breast and slipped down to clutch her buttock, pulling her cheeks open. As soon as her cleft was spread wide, one finger—it felt like the middle one—dipped first into her moist pussy and then began to circle the tight ring of her anus, spreading the lubricant around. Then—very slowly—he eased the tip of the finger inside.

  "Ohhhh, niiiice…" she moaned.

  Her moan seemed to encourage him, for his lips parted and his teeth grasped her gently just below the hairline as his penis replaced the finger and began a slow entrance into her pussy.

  "Don't worry," Ellie breathed. "I've had cocks there before. You won't hurt me."

  "Oh, but I want to," he growled back. "I want to really hurt you…"

  His teeth sank deep into her neck as he thrust his long, hard cock deep into her in one vicious thrust.

  Frantically, she tried to pull away from that sudden and painful penetration, but his teeth only sank further into her neck until they l
ocked around her spine. Her mouth flew open, but her inarticulate cry of pain was muffled by the back of the divan as he drove her forward.

  "Garrrghhh!"

  With one twist of his head now, he broke her neck with a loud snap and her dying spasm clutched his penis so hard that he shot great spurts of hot cum into her pussy.

  Ellie went limp in his arms and Sir got slowly to his feet.

  He took the dead girl by one wrist and dragged her off the divan and down the hallway, where he opened the door and threw her out onto the cold pavement.

  "Safe sex," he smiled ironically as he closed the door behind him.

  He took her clothes down to the basement and burned them in the furnace.

  Then he lit a gas fire in the hearth and had a quiet cognac sitting on the divan, licking his lips with the pleasures of the cognac…and the other tastes of the evening.

  Then Sir went to bed.

  Chapter Four

  Jackie awoke in a cold sweat. Instead of her anticipated dream of Conor's hypnotic eyes, she had dreamt a terrifying one.

  In it, she had been a hooker, not much younger than she was, but homeless and destitute in a city that could well have been this one. Hiding for the night in a frigid alley, she had met up with a strange man whose face she never saw, but who offered her a warm couch to sleep on and Ellie – that's what Jackie had dreamed her name was – had offered him her body in return. The deal had been consummated but, of course, it had cost Ellie her life, neck snapped by the teeth of the faceless thing she'd known only as "Sir." And now her frozen and mutilated body lay naked in the dirty alley. And her murderer slept, both satisfied and satiated, in his warm bed.

  Jackie hurried from her bed to the shower and tried to wash the ugliness of that dream away.

  Those damned pills Doc Enright had given her had done precious little good, she observed.

  After her shower, she threw her dressing gown over her nakedness and retrieved the morning paper from outside the door of her apartment.