Craving (The Blood of Strangers) by Jonathan Pidduck - HTML preview

“I can’t move!”

“That would be the syringe I stuck in you a couple of minutes ago.”

She had started to feel drowsy again, but the sudden rush of petrified adrenalin shook her awake. “No! You wouldn’t have. Not to me.”

“I’m sorry, Kate. There’s something we have to do tonight, something you may not have wanted to do without a little encouragement.”

She patted her between the legs. “Anyway. Enough talk. We’ve got work to do. There’s plenty of time for this later.”

“Please don’t do this. Don’t drug me. You can’t. It’s not just me. It’s -. I’m -”

She stopped. She couldn’t have this. The baby; all that poison inside her might harm her tiny little baby. She wouldn’t let Angie do that; she’d kill her first. But she was in no position to fight. She didn’t know whether to tell her she was pregnant. Would Angie leave her alone if she told her? Or would it make things worse? Surely she’d stop when she found out. She was a woman. She’d understand. She wouldn’t want to hurt her when she was in this condition.

“Pregnant?” Angie asked. “Oh, I know all about that. I had a chat with the doctor. He was a crap liar. I could read him like a book.”

“You’ll stop, then?”

“Oh no. I can’t do that. The wheels have been set in motion, so to speak.”

She removed her hand from Kate’s groin, and stroked her cheek with her fingers. She was feeling sleepy again, really sleepy. The drug was taking effect, however much she tried to fight against it.

“Besides,” Angie added. “Our little baby is kind of the reason why I’m doing all this. You’ll thank me later. Auntie Angie to the rescue yet again.”

 

#

 

My life used to be straightforward, Mike thought. Okay, maybe I was a little lonely on my own. Too old to chat up girls at nightclubs, too young for online dating agencies. But I knew where I stood. I went to work, ate, drunk, slept. Everything was pretty simple.

And now this. He’d met Kate. Had gone out on a couple of dates, ended up in bed together, had developed real feelings for her, even in such a short space of time. She was funny, she was sweet, she was vulnerable. She needed looking after. And her bitchy mate sure as Hell wasn’t going to do that for her.

But then, all of a sudden, with no warning at all, she’d changed. She’d provoked him in the pub, started chatting up other blokes, acting more like Angie than the Kate he’d started to get to know. Then he’d found out she was some sort of perverted dominatrix, chaining up blokes in her bedroom for their sexual pleasure, letting Angie join in (though how anyone would get any pleasure from seeing that flabby old cow in her Primark underwear was totally beyond him). Maybe that was all part of the masochism thing.

And after all that, when he’d made up his mind never to see her again, his very own version of the Craving had kicked in. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. He sat at home all evening, on his own, seeing things on TV he wanted to share with her, dwelling on the few moments they had had together. Yeah, sure, he thought of what she was like in bed quite a lot. Her lovely body, him inside it, (inside her, he should say). But it was more than just sexual attraction; much more. He just wanted to pick up the phone and forgive her, tell her he had to be with her, no matter what.

And then Angie had phoned him through work, had told him that Kate was in hospital. She’d taken an overdose, right after he’d left. He shouldn’t feel guilty, she’d said. Kate had been on the verge of doing something like this for a very long time. She had never been particularly stable. It wasn’t his fault if him turning up on the doorstep unannounced, and having a go at her over the heads of the police officers, had pushed her over the edge.

She’d asked him to go to the hospital, pretend to be Kate’s fiancé. She was under the impression that they might not let her out unless she had a stable family to come home to. It made him feel funny, thinking of him and Kate being family. He agreed straight away.

When he’d seen her in the hospital bed, he remembered just how gorgeous she was. She looked vulnerable again, childlike almost. He would swallow his pride. Forgive her. Stand by her. Do whatever it took to make her well again. And if he could prise her away from Angie in the process, he thought that she might just heal, given time. That woman was cancerous. The less of her Kate saw, the sooner she’d be back to her old beautiful self. And they could spend the rest of their lives in peace, without Cruella breathing down their necks.

As he lay in bed in the dark, working his way through everything that had happened to him since he’d met her, he thought again that his life had been oh so simple before she’d come bounding into it. But would he go back to that? No. Even with her being some sort of kinky prostitute, she was still worth fighting for.

His mobile rang beside his bed. He answered it.

“Mike? It’s Angie.”

“What’s the matter? Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. She’s a bit tied up right now, but she needs to speak to you. Tonight. Can you come over?”

“Tonight? Why? What’s going on?”

“She’ll tell you when you get here. It’s important. She’s here at mine.”

“Can you put her on? I’d like to speak to her.”

“When you get here. She can’t talk right now.”

This was weird. Suspicious. He didn’t trust Angie. He didn’t trust her at all. Why would Kate ask her friend to call him? She knew how he felt about her. Angie would be the last person she’d ask. Something was going on, and if Angie had anything to do with it, it was bound to be bad for everyone concerned.

“Tomorrow. Tell her I’ll come tomorrow. If you’re sure she’s all right.”

There was an impatient sigh from the other end of the phone. “Okay, I didn’t want to have to tell you this. She wanted to tell you herself. She’s just done a pregnancy test. You’re gonna be a Daddy.”

He nearly dropped the phone. If he was ever thinking of bailing out on their relationship, this changed everything. He was going to be a father. Have a child. With Kate. She’d have to stop the sex games now, surely she would.

A thought occurred. “She told me she couldn’t have children.”

“The pregnancy test would seem to suggest she was wrong about that. Now, are you coming over or what? I can tell her you’re not too bothered, if you like. That you’d rather stay at yours and watch porn, or whatever you single men get up to when you’re home alone.”

“No, no, I’m coming.”

“Not for the first time, it would appear from Kate’s pregnancy test.”

He hung up, not bothering to reply. He wasn’t going to let her bait him, not after what he had just found out. It had always frightened the life out of him when he was younger, that one of his conquests would get pregnant, trap him into a life of misery with someone he didn’t even like that much. But Kate was different. She was made for him. What did she want to speak to him about? Marriage hopefully. He’d been fine with that; over the moon. Please, please, please, don’t let it be to dump him, to tell him that he would have no part in the child’s life.

The thought made him feel a little nauseous. It was almost as if his Craving was starting to develop the same symptoms as hers.

 

#

 

Kate awoke in a darkened room. For a second, she struggled to work out where she was, why she was here. But it wasn’t hard to piece the clues together. For one, the dimmest of lights hung from the ceiling above her. Secondly, Trevor’s corpse was propped up on a chair opposite her, with the dumb guy’s body not far away from his feet. She was in Angie’s cellar, sitting on a chair of her own. And she was chained to the wall by the manacles Angie had spent so long installing while her husband was still alive.

She was naked. She felt cold and vulnerable. What was this all about? Was Angie going to abuse her? Kill her, even? She could have done so already, while she was unconscious, but maybe she wanted to have some fun first, while she was awake. The thought of Angie’s hand on her body made her shudder. She wanted to scream, but thought better of it. She might panic her friend into using the hammer to shut her up. Her only chance of getting out of this alive was to keep calm, pretend that everything was okay between the two of them. Agree to whatever she wants, she told herself. And walk out of here in one piece when it’s all over (physically, if not mentally).

She stood up, and inspected the wall. The manacles were fixed to it about six feet off the ground. Fortunately, Angie had provided her with a chain about three feet long, so she could sit on the chair with her wrists only slightly raised. Only Angie would chain someone to a wall, and then think to give them a chair to sit on so they didn’t get uncomfortable.

She heard footsteps on the stairs. Angie came into view. Her heart sank still further; she was in her bra and pants again. Kate sat back down, and drew back into her chair. She pulled her legs up, covering her body as best she could. Angie laughed. “Little Miss Modest. Don’t worry, I’m not planning on touching you up again. You’re only naked ‘cos I couldn’t be bothered to get you dressed. I’m not planning on hurting you either, if that’s what you’re worrying about. We’ll just get this over with, and then you can go home and get some rest.”

“You drugged me! I’m pregnant. You knew that. How could you do that to me?”

She waited for an answer. She shouldn’t be acting like this, she knew that. She had meant to be friendly, subservient, whatever it took to help her survive. But she felt so angry. They had been best friends for so long. Who in their right mind would do something like this to their pregnant best friend?

“Half dosage. You’ll be fine. You both will. I know about these things. I used to work in a hospital, remember? Until I got sacked for stealing drugs for you.”

“For groping sleeping patients, more like.”

“No.” Angie laughed. “I was always very careful when I did that. It was definitely just for the drugs, as far as they were concerned.”

Kate looked at her sullenly. She had to try to be nice. But she couldn’t, not after everything Angie had done to her. She just couldn’t.

“Why’s Trevor in a chair?” It wasn’t nice, but at least it was civil. Civil was the best she could manage in the circumstances.

“I’ve buried all the others. I don’t need them anymore. I took him out there, too. But I couldn’t do it. He’d be lonely out there in the woods, all by himself. He didn’t know them, you see. He’d have no-one to keep him company, and he was always telling me how lonely he gets when he’s alone. He was a bit needy, like that. So I brought him home. We’ll bury him in the back garden when all this is over. You and me. When things return to normal. It’s what he would have wanted.”

Things were never normal, Kate thought. Not between you and me. And I am never, never going back to what we used to do together, no matter what. I have a child now. I don’t need you anymore.

But she said nothing.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what we’re here for?” Angie enquired. “I thought that would be the first thing you’d want to know.”

Kate shook her head. “Sometimes it’s better not knowing.”

“I’ve phoned your boyfriend. Window-Boy. He’s on his way over. I hope you don’t mind. I told him about our baby.”

“No.” Kate was panicking now. As if her situation wasn’t bad enough, she didn’t want Mike here. She wanted him safe. “Please. Leave him alone. This is about you and me. There’s no need to hurt him.”

“Oh, but there is. We were fine, just the two of us. The best of friends. And then he came along, and spoilt it all. I know he’s been trying to turn you against me, it’s obvious from the way you’ve been acting since you met him. All that swearing and answering me back; you’ve not been yourself at all. He wants to split us up. He wants you all to himself, to cut me out. And that’s only going to get worse now you’re pregnant. You have something together, something for you to share, something he can use to exclude me all the more. I’m not having that.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Kate lied.

“All men are like that. Except maybe Trevor, but he was different from the others. I wouldn’t have put up with him for so long otherwise. I loved Trevor. That’s why I’ve given him a chair to sit on until we can bury him in the garden. Keep him comfortable.”

“Please don’t do this. He’s a nice guy. He doesn’t deserve this.”

“You’ll be fine after it’s over. Trust me, I know you will. Once he’s gone, we can go back to where we used to be, just you and me, raising the baby between us. Only more than we used to be. Now Trevor’s left us, we can be a proper family. Maybe even get married. We could do that now. I was reading all about it the other day. I’ll show you the magazine, if you like. It’s upstairs in my bedroom.”

“I’m not letting you anywhere near my baby.”

“Our baby.”

“My baby.”

“Our baby!” Angie shouted at her. “See. See what he’s done to you. Done to us. We never had a cross word between us before he came along. Never. You’ll thank me for this, one day. I can look after you, keep you supplied with what you need. And maybe even have a little fun myself in the process, if you stop being so frigid. This is what you want, Kate, even if you don’t know it yet. I’m what you want. Just you, me and our little baby, happy together forever.”

“Hello?” A voice from upstairs. A man’s voice. Mike was here.

Angie smiled. “Play-time.”

“Please don’t,” whispered Kate. “Please don’t do this to him.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for a change of plan. I’ve left him a little present upstairs, you see. I want him to know what you are before he dies. What you do. I want you to see the loathing in his face when he looks at you. So you know. So you know that no-one else would accept you for who you are; no-one but me.”

Kate closed her eyes. She took a moment to pull herself together. This was all too much. Everything was spinning out of control, and she didn’t know how to stop it. Mike and the baby were all she had left to cling on to, and Angie was hurting them both.

“What is it?” she asked, her eyes still closed. “What have you given him?”

She felt Angie patting her shoulder, as if in sympathy.

“Nothing much,” she reassured her. “Just your suicide note.”

 

#

 

The key had been left in the door. How dangerous is that, thought Mike, as he pushed it open. Anyone could have walked in.

He stood in the hallway. The lights were on, but there was no sign of life. A bit like Angie, really.

He put his head round the door to the living room. No-one there.

“Hello?” he called out. No reply.

He walked along the passageway towards the kitchen. It was the only place left to go. He wasn’t about to start wandering round upstairs, outside Angie’s bedroom, not for all the money in the world.

A thought occurred. Maybe she was up there, lounging on the mattress in those horrible knickers of hers, planning to seduce him so that Kate would dump him. She’d have her work cut out. No way was he going up those stairs, no matter what. If she wasn’t in the kitchen, he’d try phoning Kate again, and then he’d go home and wait.

He passed the door to the cellar. It was open a foot or two. There was a light on down there. A very dim light, but a light all the same.

He looked in the kitchen. It was empty. He returned to the cellar-door. “Hello?” he called down the steps. No response. Surely they wouldn’t be down there? It looked old and disused, like cellars always are. It made him feel uneasy for some reason. He wished he could see the whole room, rather than just to the wall at the foot of the stairs.

He would leave. He could see Kate tomorrow. Everything would seem better during the day.

It was then that he noticed the letter blue-tacked to the door. Four or five pages of hurried handwriting. Addressed to him.

He pulled it away from the painted wood, taking care not to tear it. He read through it. He died a little. A suicide note. Kate’s suicide note. Saying horrible, horrible things. That she kidnapped men. Murdered them. Drank their blood. Kisses at the end, as if that would make everything okay. This had to be a fake; something Angie had dreamt up to split them up. Kate would never have written this, would never have been the person this sick letter described. She was scared, beautiful, vulnerable. The author of the letter, on the other hand, was a psychotic bitch. It had to be Angie. Not his Kate.

But then again, it would explain why she’d want to kill herself. Why she had men in her bedroom. Why they had handcuffs on.

There was a scream from downstairs, down in the cellar. A woman’s scream. He hesitated only for a second, before descending the stairs. He took them slowly, partly through fear and partly because he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out who was crying out down there. Was it Kate? Or was it someone Kate was making scream?

Three steps down, the light went out. He returned to the top of the stairs and turned it back on again. He heard a huff – Angie, that had to be Angie – and the light went off again. He flicked the switch back down. No way was he going down there in the dark, not with Angie lurking round the corner at the bottom.

And then Angie was halfway up the stairs, charging towards him, syringe in hand. She looked wild, deranged. He turned to flee, but she grabbed hold of his ankle with her free hand. He tried to shake her off, but she was strong. She brought the syringe up into the air, ready to stab it down into his calf. He kicked out at her with all his strength, catching her in the throat and the top of her chest. She grunted, and dropped the needle. He heard it clatter a few steps down.

He heard someone scream his name from the cellar. Kate; he was sure it was Kate. He tried to ignore her. He had to focus on her psycho friend if he was to have any hope of getting out of this alive.

Angie was looking over her shoulder, trying to see where the syringe had gone, still holding on to his ankle all the while. He kicked out at her again, aiming at her face this time round. She ducked away from him, the sole of his boot just catching her left ear. She shouted in rage, and pulled on his ankle sharply. He lost his balance, landing heavily on his bottom a few steps down, a few stairs closer to Angie. He could see the syringe on the stairs behind her, just a step or two down. She was reaching for it.

“Get off me!” he shouted. He tried kicking out at her with his free leg one last time, from a sitting position, but as he drew his leg back she took hold of his other ankle. She pulled both his legs hard. He dropped down two more steps, so he was practically astride her, one leg on either side of her shoulders. She bit his groin through his jeans, sinking her teeth into him, growling all the while. He howled in pain, and struggled to free himself, but she had him round the waist now, and she wasn’t about to let him go. The noise she was making was frightening the life out of him.

She shuffled backwards, pulling him with her, one step at a time, down into her lair in the cellar like some monstrous predator with her prey. Kate was howling his name as Angie dragged him down the stairs towards her. He thrashed around, no plan now, just frenzied movement to try to free himself from her grasp. He couldn’t get over how strong she was.

Angie cursed. She’d found the syringe. He hoped she’d stabbed herself when she sat on it, but no such luck. As she turned to pick it up, he made a desperate bid for freedom, pulling away her remaining hand and springing to his feet. He’d made it almost to the top of the stairs when she swiped his left ankle out from beneath him, a tap tackle, sending him sprawling back down the stairs towards her. She seized him by his collar and hauled him down the steps after her into the depths of the cellar, using his own momentum against him. He fought to stay on his feet, sensing that if he went down it would all be over for him.

They rounded the corner at the foot of the stairs. Angie shoved him into the middle of the room. He could see Kate in the dim overhead light, standing by a chair, manacled to the wall with long chains. For some reason he shuddered to think about, Angie had removed all her clothes before chaining her up.  It looked like she had had plenty to scream about.

Angie stood across the bottom of the stairs, syringe held out like a dagger, blocking his escape route.

“I expect you two would like a bit of a cuddle, wouldn’t you? Being so close, and all?”

He looked at Kate. His heart flipped. He still had feelings for her. Even after the letter, he still had feelings for her. That was so screwed up. How can you love a self-confessed serial killer?

“Run, Mike!” she screamed at him.

“He may find that a bit tricky,” Angie replied on his behalf. “Due to the fact that I’m waving a big-fuck-off-syringe in his face.”

“Kate,” he said. “How could you? How could you do all those things?” He was desperate for her to justify herself, so that they could go back to how they were, or as near how they were as would be possible after something like this. “Was it Angie? Did she make you? Tell me she made you do it.”

Angie laughed, loud and harsh. “Yeah, like she’d be an absolute angel without me. She’s the one who drinks blood, Window-boy. She’s the blood-junkie. I just help her score it, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry,” Kate said, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry.” She trailed off, not knowing what else to say. He needed more from her. She had to convince him to forgive her.

“Go and stand by her,” Angie instructed him.

He shook his head. “No.”

“But you love her, don’t you? Surely you’d want to be with the mother of your child at a time like this?”

“You were making that up. To get me here.” He looked over at Kate. “She was making that up. Wasn’t she?”

Kate shook her head. “It’s true. I’m pregnant