Murder in Vein (2010) (2 page)

The moonlight penetrating the canopy of overhead branches
allowed her to see Bobby as he sat with his back against a nearby tree. He was guzzling from a can of generic beer torn from
the six-pack resting at his side. He glanced at the cheap watch
strapped to his wrist. He seemed to be waiting for something or
someone.

There had been several news reports over the past year about
missing women. Three had been found dead and mutilated. The
others were never found. And even though the police claimed to
have the killer in custody, Madison's panic and terror gathered
anew as she worried about being the guest of honor at something
evil and terrifying. She wiggled, but the tape around her hands
and feet stayed put. Bobby noticed and glanced her way, causing
her to freeze.

Getting down on his knees, Bobby scooted over and knelt
next to Madison. "Steady now," he warned. He bent close and
tongued her ear as he spoke. When she squirmed in disgust, he
laughed. "Don't go making things worse for yourself."

Worse? Madison thought. Worse than this? Her fear splintered,
invading every cell of her body.

Bobby glanced again at his watch, then looked off in the
direction of Madison's car, which he'd driven with her stuffed in
the trunk. "Damn it. Where is he?" he said to the empty night.

These were the last words he ever uttered.

Something came out of the dark. Something large and silent.
It struck Bobby hard and fast, sending him into the tree where
he'd been leaning just a moment before. Beer, malty and lukewarm, rained on Madison's face. From the corner of her eye, she
caught sight of her attacker splayed against the thick trunk of
the tree, busted and askew, a rag doll in a disturbing pose. He
moaned.

Whatever it was that had attacked Bobby now hovered over
his broken body, totally ignoring her. It tore at Bobby's shirt, the
fabric rasping loud and foreign against the natural sounds of
the night. It looked to Madison like a man, dark and looming in
appearance. When it raised its head and looked up at the moon,
she saw that it was a man-an older man, his face strong but
weathered, his jaw line slack with age. Then he looked back down
at Bobby. Bobby screamed. It was a short scream, winding quickly
down into a whimper, until Madison could hear it no more.

The man raised his head again toward the moon. Even with
the rag in her mouth, Madison's breath caught in her throat. He
heard it and turned toward her, leaning down until she could
smell his metallic breath. He grimaced, displaying fangs dark and
thick with fresh blood-Bobby's blood.

Madison passed out.

When she regained consciousness, Madison found Bobby
Piper trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey. He was just as white as
raw poultry and just as dead.

My name is Madison Rose, she reminded herself in silence
while she studied Bobby's body. She hoped that remembering the
small details of her life would keep her focused and not allow
her mind to drift back into unconsciousness. What she'd seenthe man with the fangs-couldn't have been real. Bobby's killer
was just another psychopath like himself. She tried desperately to
convince herself that her mind was playing tricks on her.

Madison heard footsteps. The sound brought her focus back
to the problem at hand. It sounded like there was more than one
set. They moved with stealth over the dead leaves until they were
nearby. She didn't close her eyes, but neither did she turn her
head to look.

"What should we do with her?" she heard a woman ask in a
soft, cultured voice.

"She saw me," a man answered. "We'll have to kill her." His
voice was low, rounded out in unexpected civility, and almost
apologetic.

Madison. Rose. She repeated it to herself like a mantra. It was
her first and last name. She had no middle name like regular
people-just a last name for her first name and a first name for
her last. People always screwed it up. No matter how clearly she
explained it, there was always some jackass who insisted on filing
her under the Ms instead of the Rs. On more than one occasion,
she'd thought about changing her name to Rose Madison just to
make things easier for everyone. But she'd never been known for
making things easy on the folks around her-or on herself. After
being raised in a string of foster homes, Madison Rose wasn't
used to things being easy on any level.

Remembering the details of her twenty-three years of life
didn't change the fact that she was still on the ground, still bound
and gagged-a sitting duck for whatever hell would come next.
Looking again at Bobby's body, she had only one regret: that she
hadn't killed him herself.

It also crossed her mind that moving to LA had been a bad
call.

adison's eyes opened slowly until they caught on a vertical
strip of diffused light. It signaled to Madison in the darkness. The last thing she remembered was waiting to die.
Is this death? she asked herself. Is this the light everyone talks
about? She squinted and concentrated on it, thinking the light of
passing should be big and bright, not dim and slim as a reed. She
felt disappointed, let down even in death.

She wiggled her fingers, then realized her hands were unfettered and her mouth no longer gagged. She lay on her back, on
what felt like a very large, soft bed. Again, she wondered if she'd
died and gone to heaven. After a few minutes, she decided if
heaven was all about lounging in a big bed, cocooned in expensive linens edged in lace and smelling faintly of lavender, then it
was okay by her.

Closing her eyes, she opened her mouth in a wide yawn. A
sharp pain stabbed the middle of her lower lip. She touched
her tongue to the spot, tasting blood and feeling a small split.
Her cheek throbbed. Lifting a hand to her face, she felt a gauze bandage on her right cheek. Gently, she moved her fingers over
her face in a Braille examination and detected a small bandage
across the bridge of her nose. She felt like she'd been hit by a
train. If she was dead, she wouldn't be bleeding-or in pain. She
also had to pee and reminded herself that she couldn't recall ever
hearing of the dead needing to use the bathroom.

Cautiously, she eased a foot out from under the covers and
over the edge of the bed. The room was cool, almost cold. Someone had removed her clothes and dressed her in a long, sleeveless nightgown. Stroking a hand down the front of her chest, she
felt pintucking and ribbon trim. Her feet found a soft, cushy area
rug, then traveled onto a bare but glossy wood floor. She moved
slowly in the near blackness, aiming for the shaft of light.

She'd only taken a few steps when she heard a knock, then a
door opened a few feet to the left of the shaft of light. More light
entered the room, silhouetting a shape in the doorway.

"I see you're up," a cheerful female voice said.

Before Madison could answer, a small lamp on the far side of
the room came on, filling the space with a soft light. She turned
her face away, giving her eyes time to become accustomed to the
brightness, then turned her head back to see who was speaking.
At the door was an older woman. Not elderly but definitely old
enough to qualify for the senior menu at the diner.

"How are you feeling, Madison?" the woman asked.

Madison studied her, digging through her cottony brain for
recognition. She was pretty sure she didn't know the woman, but
she didn't seem totally unfamiliar either.

Madison started to speak but stopped to clear her throat first.
"How do you know my name?"

The woman smiled and stepped deeper into the room. "It was
on your driver's license," the woman explained. "I hope you don't
mind, but we had to go through your purse for your ID." The
woman pointed toward a dresser. "Your bag is over there."

Turning her head, Madison saw her beat-up shoulder bag on
top of the dresser.

The woman moved toward her, her trim body gliding gracefully across the wood floor on pink velvet slippers. When she
reached Madison, she held out a hand with long, tapered fingers
to feel the girl's forehead. Instinctively, Madison backed away.

"Don't worry," the woman assured her. "I'm a retired nurse. I
need to make sure you're not running a fever."

She moved closer. She was almost Madison's height, about
five foot six. This time, Madison didn't half bolt when the woman
laid a cool hand on her face. After a few seconds, the woman
smiled, satisfied with her patient's status.

"Are you the one who fixed me up?" Madison asked.

The woman nodded and moved toward the bed, where she
fussed with the covers, pulling them back and smoothing the
sheets underneath. "Yes," she answered. She folded one edge of
the sheets and blanket back in a tidy triangle, as fancy as in a
luxury hotel, readying the bed for Madison's return. Then she
started fluffing the pillows. "You were quite a mess, Madison. But
I'm happy to say your nose was not broken." With one final fluff
to a pillow, she was done. "I don't even think you'll have any scars.
But you'll be feeling the bruises on your body for several days."

With her bladder complaining, Madison had to decide which
was more urgent: going to the bathroom or finding out who in
the hell this woman was. As if reading her mind, the woman said,
"Why don't you freshen up?" She pointed to a door next to the one she'd entered. "The bath is right that way." She started back
toward the other door, then stopped. "Take your time," she told
Madison with a warm smile. "I'll go find something for you to
eat. You must be starving."

Before leaving, the woman asked, "Are you allergic to anything-or a vegetarian? Anything like that?"

"No," Madison croaked out. "I'll eat anything."

The woman gave off a low, almost private chuckle. "In this
house, that could be dangerous."

Upon entering the bathroom, Madison discovered the sliver
of light was cast from a small night-light positioned just inside
the door. The light was in the shape of a purple flower.

Lavender linens, beribboned nightgowns, flower-shaped
night-lights, and room service. She had gone from near death on
decaying foliage to a fairy tale. Or had she? Madison Rose knew
better than to make assumptions based on first impressions.
She'd learned early in life that even good things had a way of biting you on the ass when you took a closer look.

The bathroom was spotless. There were no chips in the tile,
no water stains on the floor, no birthmarks of mildew in the corners. The room was decorated similar to the bedroom, abundant
with lace and floral prints, just on the edge of being Victorian.
After using the toilet, she stood in front of the vanity, where fresh
soaps in the shapes of roses sat in a delicate white dish next to a
matching drinking glass. Carefully picking up a fancy soap, she
wet it as if she were washing a piece of antique china. Next to the
soap dish was a new toothbrush, still in its package, and a fresh
tube of toothpaste. She wondered if they'd been put there for her
use. Again, she was unsure. Somewhere, a part of her still wondered if she might be dead.

As she washed, Madison avoided looking into the mirror over
the sink, but she knew she couldn't evade it forever. After drying her hands on a towel, she jerked her head up fast, letting her
appearance hit her like a baseball bat, which was appropriate,
since her face looked like it had done some time with one.

She had a black eye, and her nose was scraped. The gauze
bandage she'd felt earlier covered her right cheek from the edge
of her eye almost to her mouth. Her long, dark brown hair
was loose, with the odd, tiny leaf clinging to a few strands. She
pushed strands of hair out of the way and saw another scrape
across her forehead. Her wrists were also bruised, the outline of
the duct tape still visible.

She opened the toothbrush and started brushing the fetid
film from her mouth, careful of her split lip. The toothpaste was
a national brand, cool and minty. She wanted to scrub her whole
body with it.