Kira smiled. “Thanks. Just need to test a little something.”
She extended her hands toward him and positioned her index fingers in the form of a cross. The vampire cringed away from her. The glasses slipped from his hands and shattered on the hardwood floor, spilling precious ounces of priceless aged bourbon. He hissed at her and bared his teeth. The incisors at the corners of his mouth instantly elongated into fangs. The hair on his head thickened and stiffened and his brown eyes turned a menacing shade of midnight black.
Kira gulped.
Uh-oh.
The knowledge that she had fucked up in a very serious way hit her with breathtaking force. She had made the critical mistake of treating this like a game. The world she was in did seem strongly informed by the rules of fiction from her world, but this world
was
real. She was no actress in a corny stage play. Everything about this situation was ridiculous on the surface, but that in no way diminished the genuine danger she was in just by being here.
She pulled her hands toward her chest and her expression turned apologetic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that. Really. I just had to…to…” She was shaking and it was becoming harder to push the words out. “Had to…see…”
She stopped.
There was nothing she could say that would make any sense to him. And nothing to do but throw herself on his mercy.
“Please don’t hurt me.”
She pulled her fingers apart and dropped her hands.
The vampire continued to regard her warily, perhaps gauging whether she might have any other nasty surprises for him. His fangs were still extended and his hair was still doing that strange fright-wig thing. But his posture was more relaxed and his eyes weren’t quite so black. For a long moment, Kira was almost able to believe there would be no serious consequences for her stupid stunt.
Then he hissed at her again.
Oh shit.
She never had a real shot at defending herself. He was too fast. Blindingly fast. One second she was standing there and the next his hands were on her. Then she was flying backward, her feet leaving the ground for a moment before she began to descend. Her back hit the canopied bed’s plush mattress and then he was on her again, his unbelievably strong body pinning her to the bed and rendering her immobile. He snarled at her and bared his teeth again, rearing his head backward as his mouth opened impossibly wide.
Kira’s eyes filled with tears. “Please. No.”
His head snapped toward her neck and his fangs pierced the tender flesh of her throat, causing her to cry out in anguish and pain. She whimpered and trembled uncontrollably as he began to drink from her. But then a strange thing happened.
As he continued to drink of her blood, the pain began to fade and then, finally, stopped altogether. Even stranger, the sensation of her blood being drawn into his mouth turned pleasurable, almost unbearably so. She was turned on. She was too overcome by the delicious sensations to puzzle much over the oddity of this development. Her nipples stiffened. She moaned. When she became aware of the massive erection straining the crotch of his jeans, the moans gave way to animal grunts, primal expressions of the most intense desire she had ever known.
The vampire raised himself up and tore the flimsy nightie from her body with a single vicious swipe. She was screaming for him by then. And he obliged her. His clothes came off quickly and then he dove inside her, making her scream again. She screamed many more times before it was over.
And then, after a while, she had occasion to scream yet again.
When Monroe reached the bottom of the winding stone staircase, he arrived in a very small room with a dusty wooden floor and stone walls. There was a big door set in the middle of the wall directly facing him as he came off the final step and set foot on the floor. Wood planks creaked beneath his feet as he moved farther into the room. He approached the black door, but stopped short of it, frowning. The door was made of iron and had a closed port at approximate eye level. Torches mounted in sconces to either side of the door blazed brilliantly.
His head swiveled this way and that as he took a look around the room in which he found himself. Except for the top half of an ancient human skull wedged into a corner, there wasn’t much to see. The skull was disturbing, sure, but he was unsurprised to discover someone had died down here. The only mystery on that count was what had happened to the rest of the poor bastard. The big iron door was the only way in or out of the room. Unless you counted the tall staircase he’d just descended. And given the dire warning he’d received about attempting a return journey, you couldn’t count that at all.
So then…this door.
He couldn’t stand here staring at it forever. The guards had told him precious little about what to expect once he reached the bottom of the staircase. He had expected some form of demented arrival party. A gaggle of capering, leering goons, some kind of old-time horror movie shit like that. It was possible his imagination had run a little wild over the course of the long descent down the stone steps.
Of course, he wasn’t too upset about the lack of capering goons. That would have been a whole lot of no fucking fun at all. But, coupled with his dearth of knowledge about how to proceed, the room’s emptiness was somehow more ominous. The moans and screams issuing from somewhere on the other side of the heavy iron door weren’t too reassuring either. He wondered whether he was expected to open the door himself and walk on through into whatever chamber of horrors awaited him on the other side.
Probably.
Monroe listened to the screams a while longer. After several minutes, he turned away from the door and walked back to the foot of the stone staircase, where he took a seat on the bottom step and crossed his arms over his knees. Because, fuck it, maybe there really was no way out of this shit. That didn’t mean he had to offer himself up on a goddamn platter for these assholes. They could damn well come out here and drag him inside themselves.
Whoever “they” were.
He didn’t have a clue on that point either. Could be there were more vampires on the other side of that door. Or maybe some skulking, Renfield-like servant goons. He didn’t know and he didn’t care. All that really mattered was that people were being tortured in there. And what he was hearing was the sound of his own future. As he sat there, his head filled with an array of medieval torture scenarios. Thumbscrews. Racks. Red-hot branding irons. And so on and so forth. The thought of enduring that level of agony, especially over a drawn-out period of time, was inconceivable. He would be begging for death, just like all those miserable bastards he was hearing now.
After a while, it was too much. He clapped his hands over his ears to shut out the sickening sounds. He shut his eyes and tried to imagine he was somewhere, anywhere, else. Some tropical beach paradise, maybe, or front row center at a Led Zeppelin reunion concert. That would fucking
rule
. Man, he could just picture it. The crowd roaring, going wild. Jimmy Page ripping into some gargantuan riff. The air thick with the pungent odor of pot, like at all the wild ’70s shows he’d read about. It was so vivid, so crystal clear, it was almost like—
His eyes snapped open at the sound of a heavy bolt being thrown back. He jumped to his feet as the big door began to swing open, giving serious consideration to a mad dash back up the stairs, regardless of the warnings he’d received.
Then a guy who looked like a taller Tom Cruise peered around the edge of the door at him. He frowned. “Dude. What are you doing over there?”
“Uh…um…” Monroe blinked rapidly for several moments before giving his head a hard shake. “N-Nothing. Not doing much. Just…” he blew out a breath and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling for a moment before looking at Tom Cruise again and shrugging, “…hanging out.”
The guy laughed and came out into the room. “Hanging out?”
Monroe bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. He was feeling jittery. “That’s about the size of it.”
Tom Cruise laughed again. “Hilarious.”
This was some weird shit. Weirder even than capering goons or more vampires. Tom Cruise was wearing khaki shorts and a polo shirt with the collar popped up, like in some cheesy ’80s movie.
What the fucking hell is up with this shit? Have I died and gone to fucking Ferris Bueller land?
Tom Cruise laughed yet again. “You crazy stoner bastard.”
Monroe flicked his long hair out of his eyes and rocked back on his heels. “Oh. Right. Sure.
I’m
the crazy one. And meanwhile, there you are, standing over there looking like Mr. 1985.”
“1986.”
“Say what now?”
Tom Cruise flashed a gleaming, movie-star grin. “I’ve been down here since 1986.”
“How’s that? You don’t look any older than me.”
Tom’s megawattage grin widened. Fangs popped. “Vampire.”
Monroe gulped. “Oh. I see. Well…don’t really know what to say to that.”
Tom’s fangs retracted. He shook his head and chuckled. “Come along with me now. You know you’ve got no choice.”
Monroe sighed, feeling a deep resignation. Tom Cruise was right. He really did have no choice. So he came off the bottom step again, shoved his hands into his hip pockets, and slouch-shouldered his way across the creaky floor.
Tom Cruise shook his head again. “Relax, pal. It’s not gonna be so bad, I promise.”
“Right. The screams say otherwise.”
Tom’s perma-smile slipped a notch. “Oh that. Sorry. Hold on.”
He turned away from Monroe and slipped through the door. Monroe followed him into a room that bore no resemblance to any medieval chamber of horrors he’d ever seen in movies. This room was more like the rec room of some insanely wealthy family’s lavish vacation home.
It was big, for one thing, about the size of the cafeteria back in high school, with completely modern fixtures and furnishings. There were bubbling Jacuzzis on an elevated space at the far end of the room. Girls in bikinis were in the water, all of them holding cocktail glasses with wedges of lime stuck on the rims. Behind them a mural depicted an ocean view as seen from the bay window of a beach house. There were several other people lounging about on sofas, swayback chairs, and beanbag chairs. Some were talking and nursing frothy drinks, while others were reading or napping. There was an area for pool tables and foosball tables. Old-school arcade games lined one wall. A full bar dominated another wall, complete with a tuxedoed bartender in a bow tie, who was flipping bottles around in a showy way like…
Like motherfucking Tom Cruise in that other goddamn movie. None of this can be real. It’s just not possible. I must have fallen and hit my head when I reached the bottom of those stairs. That’s the only explanation. I’m dreaming this crazy shit.
Except…it didn’t
feel
like a dream. At all.
Tom pulled the door shut once Monroe was inside and moved to a control panel mounted on the wall next to the door. He grinned again at Monroe as he pushed a button, silencing the screams.
Monroe stared slack-jawed at him for a long, long moment. “Motherfucker.”
Tom clapped his hands together once and laughed long and hard at that. “Oh, man. You should see your face. You look
pissed
.” Then he gave Monroe a jocular slap on the shoulder. “Relax, bro. Just a little hazing thing we like to do with the new arrivals. The guards call down and tell us ahead of time to expect someone and I turn on the screams to round out the whole Hammer Studios horror vibe of the descent. No harm intended, though. It’s all in good fun.”
Monroe shrugged away Tom’s hand and took a cautious step backward, regarding him warily and not trusting that affable smile in the least. There was a monumental disconnect between the terrifying experiences of earlier in the evening and the strange revelations of this room. It was as if someone had spliced together random scenes from two totally disparate films, so jarring was the difference.
The Satanic Rites of Dracula
meets fucking
Cocktail
.
Please, God, dude…if you’re out there, get me out of this bizarro world and I promise I’ll never do anything bad again. I mean, you know, within reason. I’m not about to become a monk or anything, but I’ll definitely make an effort.
Monroe waited.
He glanced up at the high ceiling.
Nothing.
Tom was sort of frowning now, while still somehow maintaining his smile. “What are you looking at, bro?”
Monroe shrugged. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
Tom nodded. “Right. Well, I can tell you’re scared, but for real, you can relax. You don’t know it yet, but you’re among friends here.”
“No offense, but I find that hard to believe. I was attacked and brought here against my will.” He tapped his chin with the tip of an index finger, as if he’d just thought of something superimportant. “Oh yeah, and I was threatened with death. So you’ll just have to cut me some slack if I find it a little hard to believe a goddamn thing you say.”
Tom’s expression sobered. “Right. I understand. Totally. You’ve been through a lot, but the worst is over. Well…nearly over.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”