Suzie and the Monsters (31 page)

There’s a mantra running through my mind, keeping time with the rhythm of his harsh penetration. ‘Fucking men! Fucking men! Fucking men!’

I’m trying to listen for Cleo, but beyond the noise of my rape, Valon’s panting, his slapping me on the face and breasts, my own breathing and pounding heart, all I can hear is Alia crying.

He shifts position so that he can maintain a firmer, and more precise, hold on my neck, while devouring me with his malevolent eyes. Sick fucking bastard! I wonder if they will still look so hungry when I feed him his severed balls. I’m going to push pins and needles deep into every inch of his flesh, make him crawl on all fours like a hedgehog. I’m going to buy one of those sex machines and have it fuck his ass till it bleeds. I can think of a hundred ways in which I’ll teach this amateur psycho the real meaning of horror.

I can’t breathe. I hate being strangled. Suffocation is my least favourite way to die. Fucking rapist shit!

And all the time he’s looking deep into my eyes. What does he look for? Humiliation? Terror? Surrender? Death? I can’t give him any of these things. If it wasn’t for the circle of blinding lights, it would be simplicity itself for me to shred his mind, imprison him screaming in an internal tortured agony. My attempts to dazzle him are wasted, however, his thrusting and cold hunger undiminished, unrelenting, his murderous hands tight as a noose except when he relaxes, deliberately, to allow me one more breath, prolonging my suffering and his enjoyment. It’s all I can do to suppress the instinct to fight, to deny him the pleasure of my struggles.

What he doesn’t realise is that he’s competing with five centuries of blood, sex and inhumanity. How many people have been destroyed for my own perverse pleasure? This twisted performance is nothing more than divine justice. But irony doesn’t make it any less of a violation. It doesn’t stop fury and hatred writhing inside me like a caged lion. In the temple in my heart a storm rages, lightning splits the skies above the dark forest where Artemis screams violence and vengeance. I need her more than ever.

Suddenly the burning pressure in my chest is too much, the need for air too great. I am unable to control the convulsions as my body fights to escape the strangling hands that only tighten with pleasure eager now to squeeze every last drop of life and dignity from my panicking flesh as he thrusts with vigour and raging excitement... I’m crying now, lost in pain, vertigo, spinning into darkness, where are you Cleo where are you my love I need you...

Into darkness...

And then I go into the light.

Perhaps it’s a trick of brain biochemistry, but to me it has always felt like heaven, and not in a nice way. This is the light of God punishing the evil vampire, this is every sunny day on Earth burning my flesh, electricity coursing along every nerve. I would cry and scream if these actions had any meaning.

Getting shot or stabbed in the heart is different from this only in the slower recovery as the body heals. Recovery from strangulation is almost instantaneous. As soon as Valon relaxes his grip on my neck, my heart beats and my blood flows again, and within a fraction of a second I am surging to the surface of consciousness again, trailing iridescent memories of excruciating transcendental agony, and one overriding thought, one absolute command: Kill!

I strike without hesitation, fangs targeting his neck, so close, so exposed, and for a brief moment I am exulting in this perfection of revenge until my restraints catapult me back onto the hard table.

Valon yells, and scrambles backwards off the table, clutching his neck. I can taste his blood in my mouth, and it makes me laugh. ‘Fuck!’ he shouts. ‘What the fuck!’ The other men too. ‘That bitch was dead!’ I’m still laughing when the bullets start slamming into me.

I have just enough time, before the terrifying light embraces and consumes me, to scream ‘Cleo!’

Suzie (Wednesday)

I’m in a grand chamber, in a four-poster bed laid with sheets of scarlet and gold. My goddess lies beside me, beautiful and enigmatic, a profound aura of feminine power, seductive and dangerous. Never before have I seen her, only ever caught fleeting glimpses. I run my fingers through her long dark hair and breathe in her exotic perfume, hints of rose and jasmine with an undertone of fresh, arterial blood. I’m so happy to be united with the Dark Goddess at last, having sought her for so long. I’m complete, at peace, for the first time in centuries. I kiss her black lips and shiver as deadly fingernails glide down over my so-sensitive skin to possess what has always belonged to her.

‘Oh fly, fond maid,’ cries a voice outside, ‘fly that false happiness, that will attend thee in the bower of bliss!’

Frighted I fly, even from the temple door... and awake in unfamiliar territory, a bedroom strangely bare. Through the window I see dark clouds and rain, a walled garden and distant trees. Steel cuffs round my ankles are connected by chain to wrist cuffs attached to steel rings fixed to the wall. I’m trapped quite securely, even my vampiric strength is insufficient. I lie back on the bed wondering anxiously what has happened and how I have come here.

‘I thought I heard movement,’ says a familiar voice.

‘Alia!’ I’m almost weeping with relief. I sit up to accept the mug of tea she offers me. ‘Alia... Thank God. Where am I? Why am I chained to the wall?’

‘Shh... I’ll answer your questions. You’re safe. Don’t worry. But first, what’s your name?’

I frown. ‘You know my name.’ She even knew me before, when I was Violet Green.

‘Yes, Elizabeth, I do know your name.’ It’s a shock to hear her call me that. The splash of hot tea on my hands pulls me back from the sudden whirl of vertigo.

‘What else do you know?’ I’m blinking back tears of dismay. ‘Did Isabelle tell you?’ The sudden feeling of betrayal is like acid in my chest.

‘No, no,’ she soothes. ‘You know what Isabelle told me, you were there. I haven’t spoken with her since that day. No, you told me yourself, a few days ago. April first. Your four hundred and ninety third birthday.’

I sigh, partly relief, partly confusion. ‘So it’s not 2007 any longer?’

‘No.’ She seems sad, and now that I’m looking I can see the extra years on her.

‘Do you,’ I start, then stop. How do I ask this? But I don’t need to. She shows me the scar on her wrist. ‘Oh, Alia,’ I whisper, and now I really can’t stop the tears from flowing. She takes my hands in hers, and waits calmly for me to regain control.

‘So, you really don’t remember being Suzie Kew?’

I shake my head. Suzie’s just a fiction to me, a future identity, except she must be twenty two now. ‘What is she like?’

‘Magnificent, sweetheart. A bit of a fashion junkie, though.’

I laugh. ‘I can believe it. I like being Sarah, but I’ve been itching for something more extravagant.’ I’m so grateful to have Alia in my life. I cup her cheek with the palm of my hand, and she holds it there for a minute.

She pulls away and looks at me seriously. ‘There’s someone very important that you’ve forgotten.’

‘Who?’

‘Someone who loves you. Someone you love.’ I’m suddenly frightened, but I am unable to stop Alia shouting, ‘Cleo!’

She can’t have been far away, for she is here immediately, and a new shock of recognition, terrifying but wonderful, propels me to my feet and back against the wall. That the girl is a vampire I understand at once, and that in itself is fearful and strange. What overwhelms me, however, is that she is Lilith, my Dark Goddess. And, yet, she isn’t.

‘Suzie!’ she cries, alarmed by my reaction to her, and rushes towards me, until Alia holds out a hand to stop her.

My heart is racing. Alia spoke of love. Said that I loved this astonishing, beautiful creature. Certainly it seems that she loves me, for her cheeks are wet with fresh tears, her eyes full of grief. ‘How old are you?’ I ask, fearing the answer.

‘Eighteen,’ she replies miserably.

‘And who made you?’ I whisper.

‘You did,’ she whispers back.

I slide down the wall and hug my knees to my chest. How is it that I have broken that ancient promise to myself?

Too many questions! I close my eyes and try to find the calm place in the temple of my heart, but there’s too much energy there, the goddesses disturbed by my turmoil. Lilith, once again elusive, chuckles out of sight, the memory of the pleasure of her touch undimmed.

I turn to the woman who has always been my guide. ‘I love beauty every where,’ says Aphra with a chuckle, ‘and that Cleo has the greatest share.’

I open my eyes and examine Cleo for a minute. There’s something wild and dangerous about her, more Artemis than Lilith, and she’s so young! Still... ‘I’m sorry,’ I say at last, ‘but I don’t remember anything about you.’ I can see the tension screaming in her muscles. ‘But,’ I add quickly, ‘my heart tells me that we belong together.’ God that sounds corny.

Cleo throws herself past Alia with a cry and grabs me in a crushing embrace, convulsing with sobs, and gradually I relax and accept the truth of this perceived love, because the longer I hold her, the less I want to let go.

What Am I? (Thursday)

I have lost five years of my life, but gained something incomparable. I feel like Sleeping Beauty, awakened by a kiss to a life of Happily Ever After. That is, of course, absurd. The gift of true love does not take away the essential cruelty of life, but it means the whole world to have someone to share the adventure with. Even the few friends I’ve dared to keep for longer than a handful of years, such as Alia and Isabelle, have grown away from me and eventually been lost in history.

But in Cleo, I have been given something infinitely precious, a love that, nurtured carefully, will last an eternity. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve that.

The ringing of the front door bell pulls me out of bed, away from my own sleeping beauty. Alia went home last night, so it’s only me listening to this persistent summons. I slip into jeans and a T-shirt and open the door sleepily.

It’s a man, in his late fifties, I would guess, tough, but not threatening. ‘Good morning, Miss Kew,’ he says cheerfully. It’s just a veneer of informality, however. He has wary, analytical eyes that study me carefully. He’s a policeman. And he expects me to know him.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, ‘but can I see some ID, please?’ He looks at me strangely, but fishes it out without complaining. Interesting. SOCA, not police. And I recognise the name from The Tale of Suzie Kew, told to me last night by Alia and Cleo. ‘Why don’t you come in, SIO Wallace. I’ll put the kettle on.’

‘Thank you,’ he says, and follows me through to the kitchen. While I prepare the teapot and cups, and the boiling kettle roars beside me, my eyes drift to the spot over by the shed where I’m told the bodies are buried, but there’s nothing I can see to give away that dirty secret.

‘Wouldn’t it be easier just to phone me?’ I ask him when it’s quiet again.

‘Perhaps,’ he agrees, with a slight shrug. ‘You look at me like we’ve never met before.’

‘I have amnesia. The last thing I remember before yesterday is five years ago.’ I think about that for a moment. ‘Madeleine McCann. Did they ever find that poor girl?’

‘No.’

I close my eyes and let bitter fury wash through me. After a minute, he comes over and finishes making the tea himself, passing me a cup.

‘How old are you, Miss Kew? Suzie. Whatever your name is.’

‘Just call me Suzie. I don’t remember her, but she sounds nice. And I’m old. I was already old when I helped John Fielding forge the Metropolitan Police.’

He just stares at me, and I let him. Worse comes to worst I’ll kill him, but I’d rather not. I sip my tea and meditate. ‘What are you?’ he asks eventually.

I’m a monster, I want to say, but it’s not really an answer I can live with. ‘I don’t know,’ I whisper.

‘She’s a goddess,’ says Cleo from the doorway. It fills me with warmth to see her. She’s taken the time to put on a long, colourful T-shirt, but is otherwise naked, and her hair is tangled and wild. ‘Good morning, Officer Wallace,’ she says, and walks over to kiss me urgently. I wonder if he’s able to see just how predatory she is.

She releases my lips and circles round to hold me from behind. ‘I hope you’re not harassing my girlfriend,’ she warns him over my shoulder. ‘Suzie’s not very well at the moment.’

‘I’m okay,’ I say. ‘What can we do for you, SIO Wallace? Ian.’

‘Nothing, really,’ he replies, tearing fascinated eyes away from my protector. ‘I just popped in for a cuppa, and to check you were both okay.’

‘We’re fine, as you see,’ Cleo says, with an edge of hostility.

‘Cleo, my love, why don’t you go have a shower?’

She is suddenly tense, digging sharp nails into my chest. ‘Don’t send me away,’ she hisses in my ear.

‘Fine, honey, but please try to be nice to him.’

‘Fine,’ she mutters, and pours herself some tea.

I lead us through to the dining room to sit round the table there. ‘So. Ian. If you want to ask me anything about the past five years then you’re out of luck. And I hope SOCA has better things to do than obsess about me.’

‘Indeed,’ he says. ‘I think it’s safe to say that Suzie Kew is not on our radar.’ He takes a newspaper from his briefcase and leafs through to page eleven. There’s a picture of a building ablaze, and the title above it reads, ‘Fiery End For Human Traffickers’. The report is sketchy about details: ‘... seventeen women in their late teens, early twenties, mostly from Moldova, Romania and Bulgaria,...’ It seems that none of the girls died in the fire, and none of the men survived it. The death count isn’t given. There is no suggestion of our involvement or any rumour of vampires. In fact, most of the article is about the early career and trial of Vicki Robins rather than activities at The Scold’s Bridle.

‘What isn’t said there,’ Ian comments, ‘is that the men were all dead before the fire was started. We have been able to identify the men, by the way, and none of them is Valon. Which is a shame, because he’s the one the girls are really afraid of.’

‘Valon is dead,’ I tell him, in no mood to play games, but also having no intention to tell him the bloodless corpse is buried only twenty metres away. ‘Or so I’ve heard.’