Twice Bitten (7 page)

I didn’t chance a look behind me as I sprinted across the street to the library. No cops, campus or Knoxville’s finest, were in sight. And most everyone else had the good sense
not
to be outside. Just one dumb ass…me.

Thankfully, Peter was there. At least his Camaro sat in the parking lot. The custom cherry-red paint and white racing stripes glistened under the streetlights. I started to slow down, but something else joined the chase from my other side.

I saw this one, at least peripherally. And this time I did scream. Something huge and hairless ran on all fours as it pursued me. Its eyes were orange, like two offset burning fires, and long fangs protruded from the sides of its mouth—like a saber-tooth tiger.

I thought it might veer toward me and try to cut me off, but the head start I had proved enough. I raced up the stairs to the entrance, which unlike the Alumni Center was well lighted. Before I stepped through the front door, I looked back at the parking lot. It was deserted. A cool breeze brushed against my face as I listened carefully. But, I heard nothing…nothing beyond my labored breaths and thudding pulse.

I was still listening intently when someone grabbed my arm.

“Whoa!  Hold on there, girl!”

Peter feigned injury when I punched his shoulder. I must’ve hit him pretty hard the second time, since he grimaced. It served him right for sneaking up on me.

“Hey, I thought you were just standing here, waiting for me to finish my physics research,” he said, backing up in case I hit him again. “I just now came downstairs, since everybody else has already left for the night.”

“You scared me, asshole!” I scolded him, sort of playful…sort of not.

“Well, are you ready to get going? What in the hell were you looking at anyway?” He looked out into the parking lot.

“Nothing…I’m ready to go.”

I took a cautious step down the stairs. There was still no sign of my pursuers. Maybe it was just a couple of wild dogs on the loose, although larger than any I’d ever seen, and the rest of what I saw had been added by the wild thoughts circling around in my head the past few days. I offered a silent prayer that it wasn’t some predatory mutant vampires searching for a certain female of unusual Basque descent. 

“Would you mind if we took your car to your place, instead of walking?”

I poured on the sugar, since Peter wanted to leave the car on campus to avoid the vehicle searches that began this afternoon. We already went through one such search that afternoon, and luckily the patrolman and his female partner didn’t notice that his tags had expired in October. His excuse that he was too busy with his studies to get it done wouldn’t garner much leniency if he got caught. When dealing with the local police, privileged college rich kids have to suck it up like everyone else.

“No, babe…not at all,” he said, after looking toward the Alumni Center. His brow furrowed for a moment, and I wondered if he sensed something glowering at him, too, from the shadows across the way. But, then he shrugged his shoulders, his concern giving way to a generous smile. “Let’s get you warmed up. I’ve got wood in the fireplace already, so you can relax with a glass of wine in front of a warm fire while I get dinner ready.”

He grabbed my duffle bag and wrapped his free arm around my waist, guiding me to his car. I felt so safe with him, more than I ever had before. I didn’t even bother casting a nervous gaze around us. Peter would protect me. Nothing could go wrong as long as he was here with me, I just knew it. I hoped he understood that’s what I felt while we kissed and embraced outside his Camaro. 

We soon headed north to his place, after coasting through the police roadblock. It went easier than either of us expected, and I took it as a good sign. Maybe, any other menace that seemed determined to get me would prove just as easy to avoid.

***

“Now, babe, just get comfortable. I should have everything ready in twenty to thirty minutes,” said Peter, once he and I finished getting the fire up to a full blaze. 

A glass of zinfandel in hand, I looked around the living room. Even though I’d been here many times during the past two months, it felt different that night. Was it more of a haven? Perhaps. At least something that went beyond the amenities we shared with Tyreen and Johnny earlier. After all, a theatre room and hot tub wouldn’t mean squat if what I glimpsed earlier on campus somehow found its way here. 

Better to be there than back in the dorm, even though Garvan and Armando endorsed Massey Hall as their version of a protected refuge. I guess I could say the advanced security system in the townhouse swung the pendulum to Peter’s place as the preferred locale. Looking back now, the prospect of unabashed sex with my man, who was right then putting the finishing touches on a delightful birthday dinner, further enhanced that sense of security.

A false sense, as it turned out.

While waiting for Peter’s return to the living room, I turned on the TV, hoping to find something funny to take my mind off everything. I stumbled on CNN, which just happened to be running their report on the latest news regarding the Knoxville killings. I should’ve kept going, but couldn’t resist lingering for a moment. 

Another missing girl had been added to the list, and this one had likely disappeared two nights earlier. Another off-campus resident, this one lived less than three blocks away on 11
th
Street. Just like that, I didn’t feel quite as protected from harm as I assumed.

“Dinner’s ready, Txema!” Peter announced. He looked adorable in his apron and still wearing an oven mitt. Of course, I didn’t tell him this, fearing he might never dress like it again if I did. “Please follow the chef to your table, madam!”

I followed him into the dining room, where he had laid out a four-course meal. The filets looked delectable, along with potatoes, asparagus, and a bean casserole that was a recipe of his mom’s.

“Have a seat, darlin’, and we can dig in!” he beamed, and after pulling my chair out for me, he scurried over to his seat, throwing the apron and mitt on a table near the kitchen on his way. Before I got settled in my chair, he had already dug in, leaving me to fend for myself.

What a guy, huh? Well, at least the romantic thought was there for a moment. I guess his raging hunger and the close proximity of food turned him back into a typical male. Maybe that aspect would come in handy later.

“So, what do you think?” he asked, once he finished. I still had a little ways to go with my filet.

“It’s really good,” I told him, motioning the ‘okay’ for a refill in my wine glass. “I’m touched, hon’. This was really nice!”

“Thanks, babe,” he replied, and I could tell he felt just as touched by my sincere compliment. “There’s still dessert…and more to come after that.” He raised his wine glass in salute.

There was that smile again. My man’s dreamy eyes told me there was a
lot
more ‘niceness’ to come.

“I can wait for dessert,” I told him, smiling coyly. “But what else have you got in mind?”

“Are you sure you can wait for some devil’s food?” 

“I’d rather save the devil for later tonight…as for the cake, maybe in a little while.” 

The seductive wink I added brought an immediate effect. His smile faded slightly, but the twinkle in his eyes told me his arousal would soon match mine. Everything was heading for the night of passion I hoped for…needed. After clearing the table, I motioned for him to grab his wine glass and the half-empty wine bottle and follow me back to the living room. We had just stepped out of the dining room when the lights suddenly went out.

“What in the hell?” he murmured, worriedly, setting his glass and the bottle on the coffee table—my first clue that the lights weren’t a romantic touch on his part.

Shit!

This was an unfortunate development, though likely just a fuse went out. It seemed logical when I glanced out the window and saw that Peter’s neighbor’s had electricity. But then, none of the appliances were working either—anywhere on the main floor. Luckily, the fire burned brightly in the fireplace, with plenty of wood to get us through the night.

Peter moved into the kitchen and grabbed a flashlight from the pantry. Before he rejoined me by the fire, I heard the first creaks upstairs. Someone was moving around in Stephen’s bedroom.

“Nobody’s up there…right?” I hoped the softness in my voice didn’t give away my rising panic.

“Yeah, Stephen left this afternoon. Remember?” He looked worried—definitely not a good sign. 

He moved quietly over to the stairs and pointed the flashlight up to the second floor landing. I moved up right behind him as another footstep resounded…whoever was there was still in Stephen’s room. He started to climb the stairs, but suddenly a terrible feeling washed over me.

“Don’t do it!” I whispered, with enough harshness to sound like a hiss.

Before he could turn and respond to me, a similar hiss resounded from upstairs, followed by a low growl. 

Just like earlier tonight…shit!

My mind went blank. Stark fear will do that to you. Only continual bombardment can condition a person to function in a state of unease and terror—which I’ve learned firsthand since. But at that moment, I felt paralyzed.

“Who in the hell’s up there?!” Peter shouted angrily, his protective instincts kicking in. 

Another growl, more menacing than the first, resounded, and a pair of yellow eyes appeared for a split second as his flashlight’s beam traveled across the landing. Whoever—or more likely,
whatever
—was there scurried toward the top of the stairs

In the few seconds that happened after the intruder made a move toward the stairway, two things hit me. The first was obvious, that we had to get the hell away from the stairs—to flee for our very lives. The second was the remembrance of a small basement that had been converted into a bomb/storm cellar. 

Peter and Stephen had shown it to me, and Stephen’s girl, Dora Hastings, back in September during a party. I remembered how we all marveled at the money spent to outfit the cellar with modern comforts such as plush carpeting, a refrigerator, and even a small restroom. Not to mention the steel reinforced door and reinforced cement walls, and extra two-by-fours in the ceiling. Apparently, the original owner feared either the rare tornados that could hit the area, or more likely, a possible nuclear meltdown at nearby Oak Ridge. Stephen thought it might be cool to turn the cellar into a recording studio someday. I just hoped it would keep a Chupacabra vampire at bay—provided we could reach it in time.

“Peter, follow me!” I urged him. 

He gave me a ‘what the fuck’ look, and I told him to ‘just trust me, damn it!’ When he still resisted, staring in disbelief at the malformed creature glaring at him from the top of the stairs, I yanked his arm and pulled him with me.

“You’re gonna have to trust me!!” I shouted, when he pointed back at the thing getting ready to jump down to the main floor. Another shadow flitting across the landing told me a second fiend was present, as well. “Run with me to the cellar!”

The kitchen was dark, but could be reached by an additional doorway, off a small hallway next to the stairs. I remembered the cellar sat next to the pantry, and was thankful the door wasn’t locked when I grabbed the handle.

Our unwelcome guests rounded the corner into the kitchen behind us as I pulled the door open. Peter slammed it shut just as they caught up to us. He locked it, and set the heavy dead bolts to ensure the door was secured.

For the next hour, we worried whether the door would hold up, as our pursuers repeatedly threw their bodies against it, hitting it hard enough to where several times the hinges groaned from the strain. Their blood curdling shrieks chilled us far more than the cellar’s cold confines. A space heater would eventually take care of our physical discomfort, and thankfully the wiring to this room was completely separate from the rest of the house.

But, until dawn we were forced to keep a tireless vigil. Our main focus was holding each other tight while we listened to the destruction of the main floor above us, praying somehow we’d survive.

Chapter 8

We climbed out of the cellar just after 7:00 a.m. To be safe, we waited more than an hour after sunrise, knowing we would miss some of our classes that Friday morning. But, once we witnessed the destruction to the kitchen and living room in Peter’s townhouse, it became immediately obvious that school would be an afterthought for the rest of the day, as well.

“My God!”
Peter whispered in amazement, after we stepped back into the kitchen. 

The refrigerator lay on its side, and the oven door had been torn off. Huge holes had been torn in the floor where the fiends tried to burrow their way into the cellar from above. Unlike what we’d been told before, a thick steel slab covered the cellar, in addition to the steel-reinforced walls and door.

I couldn’t think of anything to add to my boyfriend’s simple assessment, at least not until I ventured past the smashed dining room table, and stepped into the living room.

“I’m surprised no one else heard this shit—surely someone
had
to hear it!” I marveled, staring at the hole in the wall where a large picture window once was. A birdbath from the front lawn had obliterated the large flat screen TV.