Page 24 of Voyage of Death and Desire

“I’m sorry, Aubrey. You deserved better.” I turn toward what’s left of Elliot. “Thank you, my friend.”

I move back to the top of the railing, this time jumping into the water below.

SEVEN

monster

Boston, Massachusetts

1892

“Excuse me, miss?”a short older man says, interrupting my morning routine. In the two weeks I’ve been in Boston, coming to Franklin Park every morning with a book and a forlorn look has proven to be some of the best hunting of my life. The men in Boston are more than willing to try and take advantage of a young, lonely young woman.

“Yes?” I smile with my answer. “May I help you?”

“I wondered if I might join you?” he says, pointing at the empty spot next to me on the bench.

“I’d like that, thank you.” I look behind him, searching for a family member who might be accompanying him.

“What brings you out here, alone?” he asks, sliding closer to my side.

“What makes you think I’m alone?” I flirt.

He looks around, mimicking my moves from earlier. “I don’t see anyone but us out here.”

I laugh. “I guess you’re right.” I close the novel I’m holding. “I enjoy coming out here alone. Time to myself is the best medicine.”

“No truer words have ever been spoken.” He looks around nervously before sliding closer. The sweat covering his brow makes my stomach growl with hunger. He slides his hand to my knee and squeezes.

“What are you doing, sir?” I ask, hoping to give him one last chance at redemption.

“It’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please don’t touch me.” I’m proud of the nervousness that shines through my words. “I am a lady.” I almost laugh out loud at the last part.

“A lady doesn’t come to a park without a chaperone. How much?” he asks, sliding his hand up my arm, pushing the dress ruffles upward with his hand.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to, sir.”

The man pulls his hand away and grabs his crotch, holding on tightly. “How much, whore?”

“I’m no whore, sir.”

He raises his hand, slapping me across the face with the backside. “Suck it.” He pulls open the buttons holding his pants in place and exposes his erect penis.He grabs my perfectly styled hair and pulls it toward his groin.

It’s not the penis that excites me, but what lies next to it. The blood coursing through the artery in his thigh calls to me—begs for me to drink from it. He forces me to the ground in front of him and pushes my head further into him.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask, dropping all pretense of the scared single woman.

“Suck it, whore.”

I don’t try to disguise the fangs as they protrude from my mouth. Bypassing his penis, I move straight to the artery and latch on. Mere seconds pass before the man is drained of the blood that once flowed through his body.

I stand, wiping any remnants from my mouth, and look at the remains of my latest victim. His lifeless body is pale and empty-looking. Instead of giving him the dignity of pulling up his pants, I leave him exposed to anyone who might stumble upon his corpse. He doesn’t deserve dignity.

London, England

1943

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