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February 26, 2024

Bohemian Morning 13

By Lydia Manx

Chapter Thirteen

Ironically, Bob had yet to notice my smile -- his focus was inward so far and he hadn't been truly looking at me. Maybe I wasn't doing it right. With that thought twisting in my brain I let my lips part, revealing the hint of fangs and said, "You haven't a clue who you are dealing with now do you?"

His eyes flashed wide, but the flatness stayed while he said, "Some bitch Fred pissed off in a bar." The tone -- mocking and arrogant -- he was taunting me for a reaction he could feed off.

Damn, so that's where his boys got their crappy ass social skills.

Sighing deeply, I gave in to an immediate physical reply impulse and bitch-slapped him hard. Not nice, I know, but damn it was so deliciously satisfying. His head flew back as he hadn't expected the actual contact much less the power behind a slap. Slaps aren't like punches but vampires kinda put that notion off because we are kick ass strong and I loved the disrespectful blow -- the mental hello alone was worth it. If I let him talk again, hopefully he got the message I didn't like to be called a bitch. Part of me was enjoying the idea he'd be too arrogant to get a clue and I'd be able to continue my education of him with my hands a few more times.

Watching his eyes, I said, "So you wanna try that again?"

His pretty blue eyes were now flashing a bit of emotion other than sheer hate, it made me smile a tad broader. That smile also wasn't unnoticed, and I could hear his confusion without fanging into his neck for a blood reading on his thoughts. He really was projecting his thoughts loudly and definitely it was unintentional. They were scrumptious and developing into something other than his usual arrogance and entitled white boy lifestyle as they'd been broadcast when I'd walked in the bar and encountered the men. The same personality quirks I'd detected again when he'd first walked into the park like he was an apex predator. Bob was quickly jumping to assorted wrong conclusions of what I was. The winning guess currently taking up his ignorant brain cells was something along the lines of 'punk goth bitch' or simply 'insane vampire wanna be' -- both which were soon to be tragically wrong, at least for him.

I regretted not keeping anyone around to play my favorite fangs and claws version of vampire 'show and tell' but the deaths of his two buddies weren't on me -- I didn't shoot the fools, but bar hopping Barbie, ahem I mean Stephanie -- shot them from her purse with a gun, leaving them on the ground before she and her friends ran. Okay -- not to be shy about my 'help' -- I did slash open both of their throats and if I decided further to be completely honest it was also to make sure they stayed true dead -- I had to own that little mistake. My blood was strong and I didn't need any mistakes chasing back to my line. Bob wasn't going to be easily persuaded. Tapping my finger over my lips I shook my head. I really hated doing it but it was my quickest option as the foggy night was slipping away to dawn and I had more on my list of 'to do' items. Those girls could very well sober up enough to feel guilty about leaving the men on the ground and make an anonymous call to the police. Young women were weird in today's convoluted world with ethical dilemmas I didn't get. They loved the drama they created and at same time felt guilt for situations they weren't going to take responsibility for but that was how they 'rolled'.

Time clock ticking away in my mind, I made a decision. Yanking his hair with my right-hand fingers entwined and buried nearly to his scalp I tugged his throat back while he physically fought my handling of him. I didn't do the expected application of my fangs -- I wanted to rape his mind instead. He looked stunned when he reached at me and his hands tried to manhandle me off him and instead, they froze on my arms and began to caress me slowly like I was his favorite prom date. His eyes shot to mine as he processed his softly touching my arms rather than his intention of clawing at my arms and brutalizing me. Smiling even wider at him, my fangs out and sharp, I pushed my presence into his depraved mind -- not my fangs. I kept pushing and stroking at his dark thoughts and warped fantasies showing him pretty bunnies hopping on a green meadow while deer and other Disney-esque woodland creatures frolicked around unmolested by the stark line of vicious predators sitting on the edge of the picture I'd mentally painted for my enjoyment.

He struggled inside his forcibly invaded mind and tried to change the channel. I let him add some poorly-equipped vaguely familiar shapes of hunters to join the wolves and lions he'd sketched into the field. Part of the choices joining bunnies and deer were his currently alive buddies who were actually physically jailed in the basement of an abandoned house I'd repurposed a few blocks away. William and Pauly in his staging of this darkly misstep in his brain looked vibrant and somewhat deadly holding rifles complete with nasty laser sights. In no way did bunnies need to be blown to furry bits by a high-powered rifle much less the other woodland creatures. From the images he pushed back at me, Bob figured that those two could possibly arrive here to rescue him or at least harm me. Boy, I had to say that he was mistaken. He kept pushing more predators on the edges of the area to tip the balance of the educational scene that I was creating in his mind. I wasn't impressed in the least, so I flipped everything away in an instant and instead dropped him without warning in a cage in between his men sans rifles. The vision was realistic down to the drains in the floor. His mind reeled with my control and his failure to switch anything to give him an edge in mis mental images -- but he didn't have centuries of mind games to fall back on, but only his puny years of punishing drugged girls and women in a pack -- advantage: vampire.

Snarling at me like the trapped creature he unknowingly was, "Bitch, get out of my thoughts."

Guess I hadn't been clear on the name calling. I brought him back to his reality with a closed left fist this time deeply inserted into the unexpected flannel clad stomach. I jumped back and clear still holding his head with my right hand. Amazingly he did not puke but groaned and his cold blue eyes opened looking into mine.

"Good, you left my thoughts." He smirked as if I'd told him a bad joke he'd already heard.

Point to sociopath. I didn't give him any visual input on my reaction to his barbed comment. Seemed like he didn't care if I socked him or yanked on his hair. My mental reset of reality hadn't made any real impression. He was damaged beyond what I'd found with most of the humans I met.

Challenge accepted.

I fanged into his throat and began drinking down a pint fogging into his brain fear and abandonment -- his weakness. Then mocking his hunters inside the pastoral scene, I dragged from his past memories victims and let them haunt through his dying.

Drinking from the protesting Bob wasn't pretty. He had a stunning amount of demented anger, and as I'd discovered, deep seated fears and a nasty fantasy life interlaced with actual crimes he'd perpetrated over the years. He hit the trifecta often mocked when there was a discussion about serial killers, fire starter, bed wetter and small and defenseless animal killer. There are other steps in the transformation from an ill-brought up kid to sociopath which aided the mental wiring issues and I found them buried in the molasses boiling inside his thoughts. Dark and deep beyond most humanity and the way they were built was bled into my body filling me and angering me. I hated this human, but I wasn't anywhere near breaking him. Bob had his own filters to protect himself from misspeaking or revealing any of his secret life to his buddies. It was odd that they'd all ignored all the warning signs of what kind of man he truly was. He knew how to put himself in the best light. It was rare for psychopaths to have close friends. He'd walled off his differences so thoroughly they never pushed him when they had any questions. It wasn't as if they all missed the bodies showing up of women and girls. From Bob's thoughts, he knew that they had never connected him to the crimes. It was quite possible; after all in today's world reading newspapers wasn't typically done by the younger humans. They got news from social media, sensational blogs or various online groups -- not precisely fact-based by any literary measure much less sustainable valid research.

What I found rather interesting was that he was rather pleased at the few times he'd been questioned by Fred or William when one of their bodies hit popular media trending sites; how easily he'd deflected the queries and redirected any connections to them. He actually savored his carefully crafted replies and reveled in their finding out about his slaying of those women. His sales pitch was consistent over the years and all the guys lapped it up and easily agreed.

Once he'd defused the worry, it usually took a few days, but he'd feed the deaths back into a conversation because he loved laughing about the rapes saying, 'See other dudes found out what whores they were. Told you we weren't the first. Thank goodness we weren't the last fool to hit that.' The taunting behavior was classic, and he loved notching up the drama and getting to relive the murders. Yet, over time the questions fell off and he knew he'd been successful at the subterfuge, but he missed the playtime with his crew. As I continued to drain him, I was fascinated by his own self-deception. He truly felt he was a god along the lines of usual sociopaths. He was nearly dead when I heard sirens in the distance.

I was mildly curious as to who or what trigged the cops. Possibly the three drunk girls had called in their attack or maybe neighborhood watch was responding to the shots fired by Stephanie. Furious at the time escaping I used my vampiric strength and began pulling him apart alive -- admittedly he had lasted longer than I'd expected. My hold over his mind and his lack of blood prevented him from screaming and one of my moves was to tear out his tongue first. I know, gag, messy but smart. Ripping humans apart isn't easy but like deboning a raw whole chicken there are points to pop and yank a body into bits. I admit to hitting a frenzy state as the police rolled closer. Not caring where his body landed, I tore through the man's clothes and began to rip open his skin pulling his body apart. It was savage, but I felt good as I threw him willy-nilly around me -- up into the pine tree and over the bushes -- as I tried to reduce him to nothing. Nothing but parts and bloody bits. The fog was starting to glow and then I heard a popping in the distance of gunfire. The cars continued and passed the park seeking whatever new hell was called into the local emergency services. Close enough to finished, I ran back to the canyons' edge, to finish staging the murders of his dark and nasty crew. But from the sounds echoing down the canyons, the continued gunfire and more sirens joined that other call to interrupt my little tableau. I left, not overly worried about the bodies being discovered, still wondering who was firing guns as nobody from Bob and his buddies were alive in the park. Shrugging, I headed out before the searching patrol reached my space.

Article © Lydia Manx. All rights reserved.
Published on 2021-02-08
Image(s) © Lydia Manx. All rights reserved.
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