He muttered something to himself and moved cautiously to investigate.
The darkness embraced him.
Drawing closer, he realized they weren't lights at all. They were eyes. Bright eyes, illuminated like fireflies in the night.
“What the ...?”
Alyssa pounced seemingly from nowhere and knocked Brian onto his back. He landed hard in a cloud of dirt. Air gushed from his lungs and the knife bounced from his hand. She straddled him and opened her mouth.
There was just enough light in the area for Brian to discern what looked like fangs; long, pointed fangs. His face became a contorted mask of terror and he choked on a scream.
Alyssa's eyes sparkled brightly, then turned an intense red. She sank her teeth into Brian's neck, puncturing skin and drawing blood.
Brain's arms flapped by his sides.
When Alyssa pulled back from Brian, she took with her a large chunk of his flesh. She spat it to one side and wiped her mouth with the back of a hand. It painted a bloody smear across her cheek.
Brian's body violently convulsed. Blood filled his mouth and bubbled around his lips. He coughed, decorating his face with crimson droplets.
Alyssa wasn't finished. She sunk her teeth into the other side of Brian's neck and began to gorge on the warm life fluid which filled her mouth.
Brian's movements gradually became less convulsive, and eventually he lay motionless.
After awhile, Alyssa sat up, panting. Her ire had faded, and she felt tired and vulnerable.
A dog came padding from the darkness. Caught in the glow of the vehicle beams, it looked almost otherworldly.
Alyssa rose from Brian's mutilated corpse. She gazed at the impoverished beast and conveyed a silent communication to it, and then wandered off into the darkness, leaving behind everything but the burden of guilt.
The dog waited until the woman was almost lost to sight before approaching the man's body. It licked at his face and neck, and then lapped at the puddle of blood just below his trachea.
Soon after that, it began to tear strips from him.
After a time, the animal stopped and scanned its surroundings. The woman was nowhere to be seen. It felt a pang of sadness for her. When their eyes had met, it had peered beyond her veneer, and saw only emptiness. And something else it did not understand.
It now wished to communicate gratitude to her for saving its life.
A low whine escaped its throat. And then it buried its snout in the man's neck and continued to feast.
01:28 am
...
Screwball stands at the far end of the Lexington Avenue Line platform. His feet are positioned at the edge of the yellow safety strip. He looks at the opposite wall. The tiles are cracked and dirty. In some places, they've broken off the wall completely.
Wiley walks up behind him and slaps him on the back. “Watch you don't fall over.”
A cry escapes Screwball's lips and he almost loses his balance.
Wiley grasps hold of his friend's jersey and holds him steady.
Screwball places a hand over his thumping heart. “Jesus fuck on a popsicle, thought I was gonna fall.”
Wiley grins. “Relax. You're in safe hands.”
“Hey,” Screwball says, “check out what I found in the trash.” He fishes around in his pocket and pulls out a wrapped condom. “Ain't even used.” He's positively glowing with excitement. “Crazy what some people throw away, huh?”
“You
use
those things?” Wiley asks.
“Well ...
I dunno
.”
“Screwing with one of those,” Wiley says, “feels like someone's numbed your prick with Novocaine.” He hears the distant sound of an approaching train and peers into the tunnel. No sign of it yet.
Screwball makes a discontented grunt and pops the condom back into his pocket.
Kobie and Len come strolling over.
“So, what's the plan?” Kobie asks.
“The plan,” Wiley replies, “is her with the ponytail.”
Further along the otherwise empty platform is a woman who looks to be in her mid-twenties. She's wearing a pink off-shoulder top, skinny dark wash jeans and white pumps.
“Yeah, she's cute,” Kobie says.
Screwball grabs his crotch. “She's makin' my sausage go all tingly and my meatballs shrivel.”
“What if she gets on the train?” Len asks.
Wiley's eyelid twitches. He raises a hand to it. “What the hell do you think? Why the hell you think I bought you the ticket?”
“Oh, okay,” Len says.
“No, not okay.” Wiley grabs one of Len's titties and twists it.
“Ow,” Len wails.
“Hey,” Kobie says, nodding in the direction of their intended target. “She's with some guy.”
The guy Kobie is referring to seems to be about the same age as the woman. He has blonde floppy hair and is wearing jeans and a loose-fitting oatmeal colored sweater. Wiley thinks he looks fairly capable, but reckons it's nothing a knife and a few threatening words can't easily handle.
“He won't be a problem,” he tells them. “
They never are
.”
“Looks like Justin Bieber,” Screwball says.
Kobie disagrees: “Nah, Bieber ain't blonde, and this guy's built like a motherfuckin' linebacker.”
Screwball chuckles. “Justin Bieber and Miley Cyrus.”
“She don't look nuthin like Miley Cyrus,” Kobie says.
“I'd still fuck 'er,” Screwball replies. “I'd fuck 'em both.”
Kobie looks at Screwball in disgust. “You'd fuck Miley Cyrus
and
Justin Bieber. You're sick, dawg.”
“Jesus Christ,” Screwball says, and whips his hat around. “I'd fuck Hannah Montana and this here girl. I wouldn't go screwin' no Justin goddamn Bieber. I ain't no pedophile.”
“Bieber's eighteen now,” Wiley says. “It’d be perfectly okay if you wanted to.”
“
But
,” Kobie says, “Miley was a kid when she was Hannah Montana, which would then mean you have pedophile tendencies after all.”
“Now hear me out,” Screwball says, raising the level of his voice to compete with the sound of the arriving train, “I don't give a damn whether he's eighteen years old or eighty years old. I have no desire whatsoever to fuck Justin Bieber. And Hannah Montana is god damn Miley Cyrus and she's all grown up now. I ain't no kiddie fiddler, got that!”
Slowing to a halt, the number six train floods the platform with the usual cacophony of clattering wheels, spitting brakes and general high-pitched squealing. A gush of wind accompanying its arrival encircles the group.
Wiley watches an empty potato chip bag go tumbling past his feet.
"You sure those cams ain't working?" Kobie asks.
They all look up at one such camera.
Wiley leans against one of the columns. “Fuck knows. But at least the subway cars ain't rigged - not yet anyway.”
Kobie shakes his head. “I dunno, man.”
The moving platforms extend, bridging the gap to the train. Exterior doors open and the intended target and her capable boyfriend stroll into one of the cars.
“Okay, fellas,” Wiley says, “time to go.”
Each of the men step into the nearest car. Wiley's the last to enter. He steps inside, then does a double take back at the platform.
Kobie sits on one of the light-blue molded plastic seats. He notices Wiley look back outside the car. “Wassup?”
Wiley shrugs. “It's probably nuthin.”
“Don't look like nuthin.”
“Thought I saw a woman,” Wiley elaborates, “from the corner of my eye, hurrying across the platform. Thought she was comin' our way for a moment. Wasn't there when I looked again.”
“That all?” Kobie says.
“I kinda got a weird vibe from her. Dunno why.”
“She's gotta be on the train somewhere,” Screwball says, leaning against a full length handrail. “Maybe we could, y'know, do her, too.”
“Who the hell you think I am,” Wiley says, “John Holmes?”
The PA speakers burst to life with a pre-recorded male voice:
Stand clear of the closing doors, please
. This is followed by a
ding-dong
chime.
The doors close behind Wiley.
Kobie stares at his feet, and says again: “I dunno, man.”
The train pulls away from the platform.
*
Amber claps her hands. “You
just
made it there.”
“Thought I was going to get caught in the doors,” Michael says.
“Highly unlikely,” Amber replies.
“Still.”
Amber drops her purse onto the nearest seat. “Oh, stop being a big baby.”
Stand clear of the closing doors, please
.
Ding-dong
.
“A big baby, huh?”
“A big baby,” she says again.
“And are you in the habit of fooling around with babies?”
She gasps. “You're
awful
.”
The train pulls away from the platform. The sudden momentum, albeit slight, causes Amber to stumble into Michael's arms. His top three shirt buttons are undone. She gazes at his smooth chest then slides her arms around his waist.
Michael opens his mouth for her.
“You're cold,” she says between kisses. “You need to feed.”
“I already am,” Michael replies.
“You know what I mean.”
“I haven't done what you're suggesting in a while.”
“And why is that, exactly?”
“Because people are
us
. It's cannibalism. There was a time when it was difficult to live any other way. It was survival. But now-”
Amber places a finger over Michael's lips. “Save it. I don't doubt you feel that way. But you're not being completely open with me.”
Michael takes Amber's hand. It's so soft, and stirs long buried memories. He looks past her and sees the interior of the car reflected in the window. He sees himself. It makes him feel uncomfortable.
“It's easy to make mistakes,” he says.
“We all make mistakes,” she replies.
“For sure. But there are some mistakes that are
truly
mistakes.”
Amber looks into Michael's eyes. She can see he's holding onto something painful. “You're turning this car into Room 101.”
Michael sweeps his memories aside - “Sorry, my bad” - and smiles.
“You've got a great smile. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“Constantly.”
Amber delivers a playful slap to his arm. “Narcissist.”
Michael chuckles. “You really are a tonic.”
“A tonic for what?” she asks.
It's not a question Michael finds easy to answer. He shrugs. “You remind me of someone, from a very long time ago.”
Amber slings her arms around his neck. “I hope it's a good memory.”
“It is,” he replies. “Mostly.”
“Room 101 again,” she cautions.
“Okay, I get the hint.”
Amber kisses him again.
Michael returns Amber's affection. She has a quality he finds intoxicating. He turns her around, removes her leather jacket and throws it across the seat. He wraps his arms around her waist.
The lights in the car briefly flicker
.
Amber lifts Michael's hands and places them over her breasts. She pushes her rump against him.
“Tease,” he says, and kisses her on the neck.
She tilts her head to one side and moans with pleasure.
The reflection in the window catches Michael's attention again. He closes his eyes. A flood of memories wash over him. He attempts to resist, but they're so overpowering that, before long, he finds himself lost to another time, and to another woman.
1701; Kovolosia, Eastern Europe
Levagnion ran into the forest clearing with his female companion. He held her hand tightly; never wanted to let it go.
“I am out of breath,” she gasped, slowing to a halt.
“I can see that,” Levagnion said, and gazed upon her heaving bosom.
“Keep your eyes guarded,” she chided, and pulled up the bust of her long dress.
“You are not going to be able to hide those,” he remarked.
She placed her hands over the tops of her breasts. “Oh no? And why is that?”
“Because I am going to do
this
!”
He began tickling her.