Rachel the Huntress: Rae! Look out!

Tales of the Lillian McBey Foundation: Rachel the Huntress

Chapter 1. Rae! Look out!

A Lillian McBey and Rachel Seneschal story.

by R. L. Norman. Assisted by N. Jenkins.

9/16/11 Version: Second Draft



         As Rachel, the teenaged vampire and Lillian, her pre-teen ghost walked down a rundown alley in a worn-out neighborhood, Rachel pondered the central reality of her existence, murder. Being a vampire, she has killed dozens of times but each time her Hunger for human life would return eventually no matter how much animal blood she drank. She wished she knew why. That was one of the numerous questions she wished, someone could answer.

           Rachel cast a cautious light brown eye to an old homeless woman bundled in layers of ratty dirty clothes though it was warm evening. Drunk, stoned or crazed, as she approached them  in a shuffling gait oblivious to the pair, completely in her own little world carrying a couple of plastic bags full of whatever she considered precious.  Rachel tightened her cute face and covered her button nose with her hand due to the stench of days old body odor, the cheap booze stench, and a hint of rotted meat of the woman as she passed.

         Rachel did a quick and deadly analysis of the old woman fate; true, few would miss the homeless. However, they are survivors; they can be surprisingly tough and quick. This one simply smelled too bad for dinner. She wasn’t that hungry yet, in a few days, she would be. Rachel ran a hand thru her short brown hair and flinched at the thought of another death.

         As a smile formed on Lillian’s pretty as china doll face, her brilliant blue eyes flashed with an idea. She skittered back and hopped out in front of the homeless woman in hopes to draw attention to herself. “Hello. My name is Lillian McBey.”

         The woman made no response. Lillian walked backwards to stay in front of the woman but she looked like she was stumbling on thin air. The woman walked steadily though Lillian’s image as it was a bit of smoke, completely unaware of or indifferent to the presence of Lillian. Lillian protested, “Hey.”

         The woman continued to walk as though she was the only person living or dead in the world. Lillian eyed the back of steadily walking woman disappointed. As a ghost, most people could not see or hear her unless they had a serious mental condition.  Rachel said with a sideways glance over her shoulder, “Sorry, kiddo. She can’t see you.”

         Lillian shrugged. “I know. It was worth a try. You never know with the homeless. More than few can see me.”

          “I guess only crazy people like me can see you.” Rachel’s cute face smirked at the self-effacing inside joke.

         “No, you can see me because you are my friend.” Lillian bounced merrily with blonde hair flying over the side of Rachel.

         Rachel knew the truth. She shook off any thought of the truth behind Lillian’s condition as Rachel’s ghost and continued to walk down the alley. Lillian claimed not to remember the events surrounding her death. Rachel didn’t quite believe her but she thought it was best, Lillian never knew Rachel’s role in her death. Some secrets are too dangerous not to keep. 

         After the woman was sufficient distance up wind, Rachel breathed deeply thru her nose to gather the scents of the city in order to find her next victim. The air was full of scents, human musk, wet rotting garbage, car exhaust and earthy smell of wet soil all competed for her attention. Her stomach growled at the smell of human musk.

         As Lillian half sung, half hummed some partial remembered pop song, they continued down the alley. Abandoned cars sat like rusty monuments to better times. Stray dogs and cats bolted at her approach. Partially collapsed garages lined the right side of the muddy, rutted, gravel alleyway. Garbage piles leaned against the garages.  Old brick apartment buildings shabby and crumbling like a forgotten promise packed together tight on the left. Behind the apartment buildings, a large car lot sat surrounded by a tall chain link fence topped with razor wire, and several high-powered security lights to protect the vehicles from all sort of felonies          

         When they reached the street, Rachel considered the possibilities for dinner and quick cash that the city of Stacy, Georgia provided. The area up ahead and to the right had plenty of Yuppies, people with more money than sense as her father would call them. So, it would be a good place to perform a little bit of purse snatching. But, they had money, so the police would more likely to perform a through investigation of any serious crime.

         Rachel wanted a cigarette badly. Ever since she stopped being a mindless killing machine, about six months ago, she smoked like a chimney. They helped to mask the occasional scent of human blood. The nicotine didn’t hurt matters either; it calmed her Hunger for human blood and death, but no money meant no cigarettes.

         Rachel knew she didn’t have a choice about feeding, but it didn’t mean she had to like it. She couldn’t deny she enjoyed the taste of blood; it was as tasty and delicious as a hot fudge sundae, steak, Ma’s peach cobbler combined. She felt sickened at the thought of the physical sensation of her victim dying. God, it was a rush like no other.  There were times, when tired, when alone, she thought of little else.

         Rachel felt the sensation of being studied like a bug under microscope. The human musk intensified but that might her Hunger talking. Wisps of cigarette smoke teased her nicotine addiction. She listened intently but the noise of the neighborhood’s dogs barking, the TVs and radios blaring, car engines revving, and simple human conversation masked the sounds of everything else.

         All she had to do was simply look down the street to her right she found the source of the staring. Three young black boys, about thirteen or fourteen themselves, were walking in a slow loping gait as if they owned the world. They looked out of place in their clean stylish new clothes with baseball cap tilted at odd angles, in this dirty poor neglected neighborhood.  One of them looked her up and down like a piece of meat. She was Hungry, not in mood to have a young boy ogling her, almost a child, so, she returned the stare with a predatory hunger.

         Rachel whispered to herself and Lillian, “If it isn’t breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

         Lillian looked up to Rachel with her brilliant blue eyes and giggled, “Funny.”  Lillian ran off and pranced playfully around the little tough guy poseurs. They made no response to Lillian’s antics. Rachel studied them for a moment, they appeared to be suburban kids slumming, trying to play gangster.  If a single real gang banger looked at them seriously, they would scattered like leaves in the wind.

         As the group approached, the nearest teenage boy smiled a suggestive smile. The other two stepped away a bit, laughing conspiratorially, giving the smiling boy some space to work his charms, Rachel’s fists tightened to balls of potential violence. Her teeth clenched to keep them from doing something she would regret, killing them all for their blood.

         The nearest boy, Breakfast said, “Hey, Babe.” Rachel’s nose wrinkled at smelling his cheap cologne. The baby-faced Don Juan’s nervous, inexperienced brown eyes tried to make contact with her light brown ones, but Rachel disdainfully turned her gaze away. He pulled a drag off his cigarette in a way that if he were an older boy would be suggestive but in a boy so young, it looked comical.

         “‘Babe’ is the best you got. Sweet Jesus.” Lillian chimed in. She walked around the young boy, looking him up and down with mocking disapproval and then went to mock the others. They made no acknowledgement of her.

         Rachel’s extraordinary hearing caught the commentary of the other two. “You killing us, homeboy,”  Lunch whispered, the middle one, the shortest one of the trio of friends whose face was covered in pox marks that made him the most interesting thus, strangely, the attractive of the group. “You got the Bic, dude.” Lunch demanded.

         Rachel snorted a chuckle at the ‘killing’ comment. She relaxed a bit for the humor of the situation, a bunch of want-nabe trying to pick her up, subdued her Hunger, 

          “I don’t do skinny bitches,” whispered Dinner, the farthest boy, a skinny beanpole himself.

         “Yea, only in your dreams you do anyone but your ‘homeboys’.” Lillian threw her head to the sky, her arms in exasperation and walked around them to return to Rachel. “What losers.”

          “Yea, I see your bitches, totally fatsos,” Lunch whispered.

         “You would give my mother a heart attack with your grammar,” Lillian observed.

         “Yea, like you get some, Mr. Shitface,” Dinner said.

         “What did you call me, Dickhead?” Lunch started pushing and shoving Dinner.

         Terrance turned, glowered at his friends and mouthed something obscene while he gave them a menacing glare. They stopped pushing and shoving each other.

         The infighting between the Three Stooges amused Rachel, but she did her best to maintain a passive front. The teenage boy studied Rachel‘s body not too subtly as he forced out cigarette smoke to his side and purred again, “Why the hate? A brother can look, can‘t he, and you are looking mighty fine, tonight, home slice.”

         Rachel appeared to be about fifteen years old girl, petite, pale, and cute in a nice but naughty way. Her almost buzz cut, light brown hair contributed to a boyish appearance. Her light brown eyes showed remarkable depth of empathy and worldliness for someone so young. She wore well-worn jeans and a black T-shirt. The t-shirt had red lettering that said ‘I Bite’ completed with a fanged smiley face.

         “You ain’t my brother.” Rachel retorted. Rachel’s brother, Sam would beat the crap of out of anyone who looked at her like that, especially a black little brat like Breakfast. Her family didn’t approve of black people, in general. In her present state of mind, they tasted like chicken. The race or ethnicity didn’t really matter that much, but diet appear to matter some. People would eat a lot of spicy food tasted a bit like a peppery. Beer drinkers taste kind like the bitterness of an overnight stale version of their favorite beverage.

         ”She doesn‘t do lame and stupid.” Lillian laughed. “Jesus H. Christ. It would be almost a mercy killing.”

         Rachel looked at Lillian and smiled a bit of smile at her bad joke. While the humor helped calmed her Hunger, it was still there. She still considered luring him in the alley way and killing him for his blood. Hell, she considered killing him for his cigarettes. Despite his chain-smoking in her face, his musk had the rich and vibrancy of youth and health. His sexual arousal added interesting smokiness and additional complexity almost a nutty lushness to his musk. She could feel his blood pumping though his arteries and veins. She could almost taste his rich and sweet blood, hot and spicy with arousal on her tongue. She almost could feel its meaty texture on her lips. However, the present of the other two kept him alive for the moment, she couldn’t risk there being witnesses.          

         “Terrance is the name. Loving is my game.” Breakfast said a boy barely old enough to shave, almost pounding his chest, a boy with a ton of unearned macho. He flicked the ash off his cigarette as if it was a sensual promise.

         “Dude, with lines like that you’re never getting laid.” Lillian piped in.  Rachel looked to Lillian and released a tiniest giggle. 

         Terrance continued with false confidence, “Me and my homies are going to get some beers and hit a party and get crazy until the dawn. You looked like you need a beer, sweetheart.” His homies giggled. 

         “Drunk, horny and stupid is no way to go life, son.” Lillian rolled her eyes and laughed.

         Tempted as Rachel was to kill him, she chose to let him life. She would have to kill all three of them. She tried not to kill unnecessarily. She tried not to kill the young and innocent. Three young boys with their throats ripped out would attract too much attention from the cops and the media. .

         Secrecy was her best defense. It wasn’t like in the movies. In the movies, vampires would be immune to bullets. Bull Shit. .Being shot hurts like hell; it takes a long time and a lot of blood to recover. After that one time, she had a healthy respect for American Kung fu, as her people called shooting a gun. A shotgun blast in head would probably kill her as well as any human. If they are vampires, there is to reason to believe that there are vampire hunters. If they were smart, they would come in the day and would use fire. During the day, she would be as helpless as a baby. She tensed in fear of that primal and lethal force.

         In addition, although he was corny, horny, and stupid, he was young and innocent, so, he deserved a long and lonely life. Rachel decided to send them packing. She bit off each word as if a separate bit of malice. “Sorry, I don’t date outside my species, boy.” 

          Insulted as much for slight against his age as for his race, Terrance’s face went ashen, and his gaze went to his feet then it snapped up and he yelled at her with a high-pitched angry child’s voice, “I ain’t no boy, I am more man than you can handle. You, stupid bitch! Cunt! Fuck you!”

         “What the fuck did you call, my Rachel?” Lillian rushed Terrance determined to do her best to get in the face of the taller boy. Her image darkened and her eyes glowed wickedly.

         As his friends pulled him away, Terrance called back, “You ain’t special. You ain’t nothing. They’re better bitches than you at the party.”

         As Lillian followed the trio down the street, she cursed and swore at the back of their heads. “You, stupid little pricks. I ought to kick you asses.” 

         “Lilly, leave them be,” Rachel snapped. “Besides, you can’t hurt a fly.”

         Lillian stared at Terrance and spoke with a voice full of disturbing possibilities, “Rae, you would be surprised what I could do if I put my mind to it.”          

          “Yea, sure. Miss ‘Can’t roll her own dice at Monopoly and accuses me of cheating.’” Rachel joked with her hands on her hips.                     

         Lillian returned to her normal self, and returned to her rightful in the world, by Rachel’s side. “Who usually wins?”

         “You do.” Rachel looked kindly at her ghostly friend.

         “Hump, didn’t say you cheated particularly well.” Lillian observed, putting her hands on her hips in fake indignation.

          They enjoyed a much needed laugh. Rachel and Lillian watched the trio of would-be blood sources walk down the street. The would-be Don Juans laughed and joked until they turned the corner and went out of sight. Rachel shrugged and chuckled. “Oh well, something always turns up.”

         Distracted by the confrontation with the would-be Romeos and her lust for their blood, Rachel almost didn’t heard rapid heavy footsteps trampling thru the mud and wet debris coming from behind. “Huh?”

         “RAE! LOOK OUT!” Lillian screamed. She tried to protect her Rachel instinctually by blocking her from her attacker.

         Rachel did not have time to react effectively before a large man in a dirty, heavy leather coat lunged thru Lillian’s image to grab her. He pulled Rachel deeper in the murk and stench of the alleyway. As she cursed herself for letting the young want-to-be punk distracted her, she attempted to bite at his arms, only tore chunk of coat’s leather. She struggled weakly against the much stronger and smellier man. Her struggles seemed to inflame the man‘s arousal.          

         As Lillian’s screams filled Rachel’s awareness, time slowed, the alley disappeared and the basement of their captivity replaced it. The man transformed to their abductor in her mind, the vampire that held them, bled them, and tortured them for months, the monster that sired her.

         As the flashback continued, her mind panicked, ‘He has us again. He wants to hurt us, again. He was going to hurt Lillian again.’ She heard distant male laughter over Lillian’s screams. Rachel elbowed him in the stomach in vain and trying to kick him in the balls but he held her in such a way that she couldn’t reach them as he dragged her.

         “Not again.” Rachel muttered. She twisted frantically in the man’s arms. As the man carried her in between two apartment buildings, she clawed at the man’s arms and body though his heavy coat. Lillian’s screaming drove Rachel’s panic as much as her own flashback. They reached the end of the gap between buildings. It ended with the chain link fence of the car lot. The fence left a narrow path maybe, a shoulder wide between it and buildings, littered with trash, and overgrown with weeds. As he lifted her high over his head, her mind slipped into blackness and red rage. “Never again.”          

         He threw her down on the muddy ground hard, hard usually enough to stun his victim long enough to start the festivals. If she were alive, if she could think, it would have been enough. The girl was up on her feet, before her attacker had time to finish opening his fly. She stood there perplexed as if observing the world for the first time, silhouetted by the lights of the car lot appearing more like a monster than a girl. They stood there for a second eyeing each other as gunslingers of Old West would have.

         The man was large blocky framed man in early middle age, with a body carefully built and trained for fighting for years. Lean, mean, fighting trim with a beautifully tattooed bald head, and proudly sporting numerous scars from brutal encounters with other such men, most men would not stand a chance against him unless similar built and trained, and he knew it. The thought of what he could do to a little girl like her made him harder than anything else. Something was wrong, she had changed. She should be helpless and pleading to be let go. No way, she should be standing up let only studying him like a dog does a piece before he eats it. He could swear she was trying to smell him.  The penetrating stare of hers was bestial, something monstrous out of the Stone Age.

         The man made a mistake, he was unnerved about what he saw in the eyes of the strangely resilient girl and he looked away from her. That gave her the opening she needed. As the monstrous girl grinned demonically, the girl leapt at him haphazardly going for his jugular with her teeth. The man fought her off with a series of practiced blows to the solar plexus that knocked her back on the ground. The demonic girl breathlessly rose to a knee from a beating that could have knocked out many full-grown men.   

         The man stood there, stunned and tried to fathom why she was up and active. No little girl could be functional after that beating. She should be like all the others, broken, bleeding, crying, begging him to stop, and begging for God, for Daddy, anyone.  Those happy thoughts distracted by a split second too long.

         She hurdled herself on him in one fluid motion, before he could act, grabbing him with her arms and legs. She bit onto his ear. Her momentum made him wobble back and fall back. The impact on the hard ground forced her to bite his ear off. Blood flowed.

         The girl became frenzied at the taste of blood, biting him randomly and clenching him tight with all her limbs and strength. She fed herself on the man’s blood, licking the vital fluid and savoring the taste of his blood. With a series of rabbit punches and knee thrusts, he managed to loosen her grip on him. Then, he kicked her off him.

         Unfortunately, for him, she landed in the direction they came in, blocking the easiest way out.  She rose onto all fours, and growled like a feral dog. The growl triggered some primal fear in him, and he panicked, got up and ran, as a scared rabbit. Unfortunately, he didn’t think ahead and ran into a narrow dead end between the building and the tall chain link fence. It would not matter for his foe did not appear to know fatigue, pain or pity in her present state of mind.  Like a beast from the pit, she pursued steadily her victim with a quiet, eerie determination, her face dripping his blood.

         As he held his remains of his ear and searched the area for a weapon, his mind raced. This girl bit his ear off with her teeth, for Heaven sake. There was nothing of use. His breathing blasted his own ears. He stood there, took a boxing stance and awaited the next assault, “What the fuck are you?”

         The beastly girl replied by launching herself enthusiastically at him. The man slid expertly to the side out of the flying tackle and counter-punched with a powerful upper cut that sent the monstrous girl bouncing off the fence and flopping on the ground. She seized there for a few seconds. “I was known for my right uppercut,” he said, staring proudly at his fist, feeling victorious, and marched over to his victim. “That is more like it!” He felt his missing ear and then he gaped furiously at the blood on his hand, “I am going to hurt you, bitch.”

         He triumphantly, arrogantly stomped her once and the girl rewarded him with a thrash of her back and a scream in pain. “Yea, Scream, bitch!”

         The second stomp, she barely groaned in pain.  He pulled back his leg for the third stomp, but, in one effortless motion, the girl rolled over, grabbed the man’s leg, and stood up rapidly. She sent both of them bouncing around the narrow space, finally into a wrestling pile. The girl bit him randomly as they wriggled in the trash, dirt, broken glass of the narrow alley. The man cried out in surprise and pain with each bite. He kicked out of her grip, stumbled to his feet, confused, and bleeding from several wounds.

         Once again, the monstrous girl, her face covered in blood, her t-shirt soaked his blood, leapt on him, throwing both of them against the chain link fence. Now the man was in trouble. Fatigue, confusion, and, panic began to wear down him.  His opponent did not seem to notice any of those things.  In desperation, he got a strangle hold on her. That is when he noticed something important; the girl did not seem to breathe. She returned the favor with a strangle hold of her own. With the last of his strength, he threw the girl off him away the exit, opening an escape route. He leaned again a pole of the fence breathing heavily and wasted a moment wondering, what was wrong with him, and why was he was getting his ass kicked by a girl half his size.

         The girl covered in mud, dirt, his blood and some strange purplish jelly, approached him slowly in the confined space and glared at him with cold animal calculation. As she licked his blood off her lips, she shivered at its taste. She did not show fatigue but she displayed a wolfish smile that showed a growing hunger. The fight with the inhuman girl wore him down, but he still had some fight in him. He lurched up and vaulted into a last frantic dash.  She followed him easily and tripped him at the turn where he threw her down. He went down hard. After his head hit the cement footing of a fence pole, his world went black for a critical second. She struggled with the man rolling on the rocks and weeds of the pathway. Then, she found his jugular. Blood sprayed and the man screamed. Her limbs seized the man in a death grip.          

         The man died begging to live, kicking and punching her ineffectively trying to free himself. The girl was too far gone to notice to anything but her inhuman need for his death. Rachel, the vampric girl, felt his death like every other death as a release greater than any sexual release she ever had. It was greater than any drug she had ever tried.          

         Rachel was blood drenched and sporting a nasty bruise underneath her left jaw. She tried to stand but collapsed in a strange afterglow that comes after each of her victim’s death.

         Her world went silent, hazy, gray, and timeless. For a time, it could be have been seconds, minutes, for all she knew it could be hours, she was at peace and oblivious to the troubles and struggles associated with the world. This moment of tranquility only cost the life of a human being.

         Voices, Lights, Bright Lights. Bright flashing lights. The voice of Lillian, always the voice of Lillian came rushing in like avalanche from all sides forcing her to awareness with a jerk and gasp.

         Lillian screaming, “RAE, get up. COPS!. You got to get out of here.”

         Rachel looked up thru befuddled eyes to see two cops in their squad car’s flashing light at the entrance of the gap between the buildings talking to someone she couldn’t see. The barking of the cops radio made it difficult to hear the conversation but the jest of it was someone called the cops to report a fight in the back. Lillian observed expressing her opinion of the nonexistent routes of escape, “Shit, we are trapped. Hell, I am surprised they came down here. Great. We are screwed. What are we going to do?”

          Rachel crawled to get out of sight by turning the corner, over the man’s dead blood covered body, doing the best not to violate it or soiling herself anymore by touching it.  No cops, she decided, because her Uncle Tess told her ‘Never fight a cop, because if he dies, five hundred attend their funeral.’ so, she had to run for it, She mouthed back to Lillian, “Run, dumb ass.”

         Lillian snapped back, “How? Where? Dumb ass!”

         No way, she could sneak away the way she’d come in. She looked at the tall chain link with razor wire. She heard the cops’ nervousness in their movements and smelled their strong sweaty musk, mixed with nauseating odor of burnt coffee, alcoholic notes of aftershave, bitter metallic reek of cheap beer and burnt match smell of the gunpowder of their bullets. She puzzled about one of them being a woman on her period. Her father always said why woman cops and soldiers were a bad idea. PMS with a gun. Of course, their cigarettes smelled wonderful.

Rachel knew capture meant her own death and the death of a lot of others in her frenzied attempts to free herself. She scanned the scene back and forth frantic looking for route for escape as her choices dwindled. Panic and anxiety started pound in her head like a pulse of its own.

She saw her only option and didn’t take time to think about it or common sense would have prevailed. “I can clear that.” Rachel launched herself in a full charge, which is faster than anyone ought to able to run, down the narrow passage at the chain link fence. Lillian’s high pitch girlish voice hit new height with her shrieking, “You got to me kidding me.” Rachel tried to vault over the fence, over two times her height maybe three times topped with razor wire. She mistimed her jump. She cleared the fence but not the razor wire.

As her body slammed in the razor wire, she shrieked out in pain and shock. “God damn.” Rachel hung there by her clothes and her slashed and gouged flesh. She screamed and hollered as she pulled jerked and struggled ineffectually to free herself doing little but tearing her own flesh with terrible razor barbs.. Red rage, darkness, and a demonic fury gathered to assault her mind.

Lillian looked up from the roof of a car assessed the situation and asked “Now, what? Just hang around for cops to free you?”

Rachel heard the cops rushed down the gap in response to the noise. She yelled between gasps of agony. “Fuck you.” She panted in pain for two or three breaths. “If you can’t help, get out of my way.” Pushing back the madness that was seizing her mind and body, she repeated to herself ‘capture meant her death’. She had to escape or die trying.

Rachel found the crossbar of fence with her foot that gave her some leverage. With a grunt of will, prolonged yowl of pain and a lot of cursing, she pushed with her foot and flipped herself over heels to free herself of the barbs. The barbs ripped her flesh exposing the pinkish-purplish jelly that passed for her blood but she still swung by her tattered clothes. Her head spun in agony and darkness as she thrashed against another bout of bestial behavior as much as the razor wire. She screamed in terror. “Oh, my God, not now.”

As Rachel swung head down from the razor wire, she squirmed to rip the tattered garments with her hands and her razor sharp teeth to escape. Red rage clouded her mind. Darkness narrowed her vision. A bout of Madness would probably end with her death in a hail of bullets. She held it together out of fear of death. Once she ripped the last tatter with her razor sharp teeth, she bounced awkwardly with a bang on top of a car hood, hitting her shoulder. “Ow, Mother.”  She rolled over and grabbed her shoulder.

As Rachel heard the woman cop stumble and fall over the body, a woman voice screamed, “Holy Shit.” The other one, the male cop, rattled the chain link fence as he made the turn. The male cop yelled something silly like “Halt, Police!” Rachel figured they have to say that. 

         As Rachel slid on her own jelly-like blood, down the car hood, she heard a gun go off. They’re louder than in the movies, she thought. She crossed the lot by leaping from car to car without breaking stride. At the other end of the car lot, she jumped on top of a van and hurled the razor wire easily. The cops wasted a few bullets at her. Too little, too late.

         Rachel ran. Then she ran some more and then some more. She dodged hurdled and out-ran obstacles, people, cars, fences, debris, chasing dogs, dumpers, as if she was terrified gazelle with a pack of lions chasing it.  The urban landscape flew by in a blur of panic and effort. It was replaced by more tract homes then farmland and suburban tracts. She was trying to outrun her crimes and herself. No matter how fast she ran, she could do not do either.

         When Rachel could stop running, miles away, when she decided it was safe, she slowed, and then finally stopped. She stood wondering where she was, finally fatigued. Hell, after running for two hours in a panic, it could be another city for all she knew.           Rachel stood bewildered and baffled. She rotated her shoulder to check for permanent injury, it was sore but not broken. She inspected in disgust at her blood saturated t-shirt and ruined jeans and rubbed the bulk of the dried blood off her face with her hand.  Her body was blood-covered, ripped-up, and torn-up but generally in good shape, it always surprised her how quickly she healed. She was hurting physically but she would survive. She wondered for a second, was there anything that could truly kill. Yes, fire could do it, something told her. It would a particular painfully death, she guessed.

         Rachel scanned the area trying to figure out where she was. She saw blocks of older style ranch style houses, the well maintained lawns, and new or newer used car sat on blacktop driveway. She inhaled the smell of cut grass, dog crap, fresh water on the grass, flowers in bloom, lawn fertilizer, and weed killer and faint odors of trash and motor oil, She listened the sound of automatic lawn sprinklers, sounds of late night TV, and stereos, people talking, a yelling couple, probably married, by the volume of their arguing, teenagers playing video games and the quiet sound of foreplay in the distance. It appeared to some working class subdivision in the suburbs.          

         The sound of foreplay made Rachel’s heart ache and a spot between her legs twitch. She held her head in shame, felt the melancholy of her loneliness washed over her. She wished she had someone hell, almost anyone, even that Cooper kid with the wandering hands to touch her.

         Hell, maybe she should have fucked Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner. She might have if she wasn’t afraid she would kill them. Is she that desperate to fuck children? Could she even have sex? She didn’t know. Hell, she had hardly even touched herself since she was abducted. 

         Lillian appeared and asked, “Are you okay, Rachel?”

         After a moment of standing in middle of the street searching for an answer, they started to walk down the side street of houses aimlessly. Rachel shook off as much as her melancholy as she could, replied distantly. “Yes. No. My clothes are ruined. I lost all my stuff, including my extra set of clothes. I am ripped up, covered with this purple shit. I don’t even have blood any more. I am-”

         “I just killed someone-” Rachel sobbed and cried lavender tears. “-who tried to-” She paused to stop herself from getting too upset. She knew if she got too upset in this emotional state, more people might die.

          Rachel continued, “I am not ok, Lillian. I will never be ok. I don’t know what I am, but whatever I am ‘okay’ is not part of the picture.” When Rachel saw a car’s headlights turn to the street, she ducked into the bushes and watched the vehicle drive pass. Lillian stood watchman on the street watching for and waiting for the car to pass.

When the coast was clear, she returned to the road and resumed walking to nowhere in particular. She realized, she had no where she could go, no one she could be, no place wanted her and no goal in life other to find her next victim. At this realization, she started to cry more fervently.

         Lillian spoke in a calm authoritarian voice, “Rachel, dear Rachel, it is simple. We have had this discussion, God knows, how many times before.”

         Rachel spoke as though she was speaking to herself, “I know.”

         “Listen this time, for God’s sake. They die, you live. They live, you die. No choice.” Lillian stepped over, pressed her face close to Rachel face, and whispered, “I have an idea. You might be able to choose your victims, though.”

         Rachel shut her eyes and tried to stop the tears. “Huh? So much shit has happened to us. We have become something out of the movies. You call yourself, a ghost-”

         Lillian pulled back to a polite distance and corrected her, “I think I am going to start using the term restless spirit.”

         Rachel swallowed hard to get control of herself. “I don’t know what I am? A vampire, I guess. Shit. I want to go home.” Rachel opened her eyes and looked to her side at the ghostly image of Lillian.

“We shouldn’t go home,” Lillian met her eyes, shaking her head slightly. Lillian studied Rachel’s face.

Rachel nodded gently, “You are right. I don’t want to explain what happened to us. I don’t think I could. I don’t know how.”

“No. That is not the problem. Sweetie, you can’t go home. I don’t think either one of us would survive the trip home, emotionally. The trauma of it would be too much for both of us. It might kill you or worse.”

“I want to be normal, Lilly. I want to have French fries and chocolate shakes.  To be just me. Not to be thief and worse, a killer. I don’t want to bite people and drink blood.” Rachel hugged herself, holding her head with hands and feeling defeated.

“I don’t know what to say.” Lillian said.

         Rachel asked quietly. “What year is it again?

         “I don’t know. I lose track of time real easy, now.”

         “I know what you mean. It is 1988. It has been two years.”

         “So?” Lillian asked.

         “Well, I would be what, 17. I should have a car and a job. I should have a life. I could have kids by now. My mom had Sam at 17.” Lillian cringed at the sound of his name. Rachel remembered Lillian never liked her brother, Sam. Not with out cause, Sam was a jerk to everyone. “You should be getting ready-”          

         Lillian interrupted, “Rachel, this is not good. You should not grieve over what is lost. What cannot be regained. You will get upset again.”

         “What else do I have? I cannot have a job, boyfriend, hell, I would take a beer, joint, or a good fuck, right now. I don‘t know if I can‘t even have sex.” Rachel sat down quickly on the curb, covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

         Lillian stood before her sitting friend, “You can have the future, Rachel Seneschal. The future. There is more to life than those dreams of things lost.”

         “Those dreams are all I want right now.”  Rachel pulled her hands away from her face. She studied her hands, her hands was wet with lavender-colored tears.

         Lillian asked, “Who are crying for?”

         “Huh?” Rachel replied. “I don‘t know.”

         “Yourself or him?”

         “I guess, both.” Rachel realized who she was crying for was Lillian. Rachel hugged herself tighter for she had no one else to do it and said in an embarrassed whispered. “I don‘t know, maybe, he didn’t deserve to die.”

         Lillian spoke as if she still had teeth to clench, “That is matter of opinion, Rachel.”

         “What?” Rachel snapped back and scrutinized Lillian. Lillian met Rachel’s gaze with an expression that Rachel remembered Lillian having it every time the vampire that abducted them touched Rachel. It was as if every muscle in her body clutched tight in a focused rage, a look of pure hatred.

         Lillian asked with a voice full of grinding teeth and dangerous intents, “Do you think you were going to be his first victim?”

         Not wanting to know the answer, Rachel admitted. “I don’t know.”

         Lillian answered her own question, “He was too skilled at stealth, too practiced and too confident. He had done it before. Several times, I suppose.”

         Rachel nodded weakly, “Okay, I see your point.”

         Lillian shook her head, bright eyes flashing in the moonlight, “No way, you were going to be his last, either.”

         Rachel kept herself quiet considering the horrors of other girls who could not fight back or kill him. “I guess. Maybe, he just needed to be locked up.” 

         Lillian’s voice struck a vengeful cord.  “Rachel, how many more women and girls had to be raped before he got caught? You ended his regime of terror. You can be an instrument of Justice or you can just keep choosing victims by convenience.”

         “You are saying I should just kill rapists and murderers,” Rachel yelled, body and mind ready for a fight.

         Lillian‘s voice lifted to a lyrical note, “The Good book says eye for eye, life for life.”

         Rachel tramped away rapidly with an anger jerk, “No, I shouldn’t kill anyone.”

         Lillian hurried to catch up and yelled at Rachel‘s back, “You know the rules of our existence. You know this, Damn it, girl. You are still thinking like a human, like someone who has a pulse. You don’t have a pulse. The sooner you accept that the better.”

         “I don’t think I can.” Rachel turned in a side yard, huddled the short fence, and jogged to an open garden shed. In the privacy of the dark shed, she curled up into a protective ball with back to Lillian, and cried so more for Lillian, her victims, and herself.

         After giving Rachel a time to cry and calm down to keep her from endure another bout of Maddess, Lillian approached slowly, and asked calmly and plainly as possible, “Why can’t you accept the fact that you have to kill?”

         “I don’t know.” Rachel pulled herself deeper in the dark of the shed. “Everyone deserves a chance, I guess.”

         Lillian spat out her words as if they were venomous. “He had his chance.”

         Rachel snapped around and looked with wide frightened eyes at Lillian. Considering what happened to both of them, especially Lillian, it is not surprising she is a train wreck. No wonder, she blocked it out as much as she could or at least pretends to.

         Their abductor worked her over good. He did evil things to her, things only a vampire could do. Things only a vampire could even conceived of. Thinking about them, made Rachel want to call out for blood, his blood, anyone‘s blood. He wanted something from Lillian, what Rachel didn’t know. In that hell, Rachel asked Lillian several times. She claimed didn’t know what Rachel was talking about. Another mystery, no one could solve.

         Rachel sat quiet. She felt and remembered each death like it happened minutes ago. The one hung the heaviest on her, was her first, Lillian, the sum of all her crimes. She was a ravenous, raging vampire at the time; she still couldn’t fully forgive herself. Maybe someday, she could, not today.

         Most of their deaths up to now were meaningless except to be precursor for more death. If she had to kill, if she had no choice in the matter, maybe, their death should mean something, even it is end the suffering of others. Maybe Lillian was right, maybe she should kill the wicked. Rachel turned her head in Lillian’s direction. Lillian was waiting quietly, attesting to gravity of situation, a few steps outside the door of metal garden shed. Rachel reflected, “This would be easier if I had someone to talk to.”

         Lillian offered herself, with arms open wide for an embrace, an embrace that could never happen again, “You have me. ‘Lilly and Rae, together forever‘, remember.”

         Rachel looked up to her ghost, “It is not the same. Uhm, it is not the same. I wish I had another vampire to discuss this with. Someone who has been there. Someone to tell me what to do. The only one I know I want to drive a stake in his heart.”

         “I doubt that would work.” Lillian deduced. “Your heart doesn’t do anything, anymore.”

         “Huh? I guess. I still can’t believe you blocked out the shit that happened to us with him.”

         Lillian shrugged, “Mostly, I did mostly. Miracles of the mind, it blocks out what it can’t handle, I can‘t explain it myself.”

          Rachel pondered her fate and the central dilemma of her existence, whom to kill. The man who attempted to rape her reminded her of the monster who responsible for the fate of both Lillian and her. Her heart went cold, colder than normal with the thought of the vampire who created her. She shrived with the cold of the thought. Their abductor and the would-be rapist were the same kind of men. They were birds of the feather. They both treat people, women especially as things. They both deserved to die. Their death would balance the books a tiny bit. Each one of them she killed she could save dozen of lives. In a way, she would be killing the monster responsible.

         Rachel said, “Lilly, Ok. I must kill. The truth is I can kill one asshole responsibly or kill half dozen innocents in a mindless rampage. I can’t believe, I just said that. So, we have to do this shit right.”

         “Ok, I guess.”

         “I will kill the wicked, the worst of humanity I can find. I will try to make my fucking existence have meaning. I will kill them, because I might be the only one who can and will stop them.”

         “Are you are alright with this?” Lillian asked.

         “No, I don’t think I ever will. But I never had a choice in this, do I?” Rachel sighed with resignation.

         Lillian knelled, pressed as close as a kiss, and whispered as gentle as a lover, “No, you don‘t.”

         Rachel stood up awkwardly to avoid the disturbing intimacy of Lillian, and stepped around Lillian ghost’s presence to escape the shed and the mixed feeling of the moment. Outside the shed, she scrubbed the man’s dried blood and her own tears from her face with the flap of her t-shirt. Sometimes, Rachel got a weird, creepy vibe from Lillian. Something was going on in Lillian’s little ghostly head. That was one of the things, Rachel didn‘t want to know. She stepped to the fence with a determination. “Let’s go.”

         Lillian watched Rachel for moment with a peculiar look on her face. “Where?”

         Rachel hopped over the fence with one step hoping to escape the various uncomfortable feeling of the night. Lillian cleared the fence in eerie motion of a creature not in touch with gravity. “First, find a place for the day; it will be sun up soon enough, then tomorrow anywhere but here. The police might have got a good look at me. The snack pack might have talked to the police.”

         They walked in the cool of night, serenaded by the cricket and escorted by howling dogs, their way lit by an ever-wary Moon. They may not have a place in the world but they secured in the knowledge that they would face the future together. Rae and Lilly together forever.