In a dank, steamy alley behind the dance club Pulse, I stand alone in the dark, banging my fist against the metal door and jerking the handle. I have managed to lock myself out.
I don’t bother to look around; my nicotine-addicted sister is not chilling with the rats—no smoker’s patio here.
Ugh, it stinks!
I cover my nose against the stench of hot garbage and urine. My hopes for an early evening evaporate into the noxious air.
Juliette! Where the hell are you?
I try hollering, but inside the music blares, obscuring my voice. I give the handle one last tug. Nothing happens, of course.
To get inside requires picking my way through trash, over discarded pallets, down the long, rodent infested alley and back around the block to the front door—just to pay another cover charge. What a scam.
Forget that noise.
I didn’t even want to come tonight. Juliette is the one who lives to party. Prying her away from male attention is like taking a chew-toy from a pit-bull. You might lose a hand. Well, she can dance till dawn, but I am calling it quits. My dere¬lict twin knows where to find me after the han¬gover wears off.
Unlikely she’ll even miss me. Pulse is the newest hot spot in Pittsburgh. A celebrity owned nightclub with trendy VIP lounge, sexy bartend¬ers, hip thrusting music, and high-octane drinks. The place is ‘all the rage’, or so Juliette claimed when I agreed, against better judgment, to meet here. When will I learn, just say no?
Juliette thinks my life is deadly dull because I re¬sist going anywhere after sundown. What’s so wrong about staying home, tucked in with a good book, safe from drunk drivers, and other miscreants? Okay, I guess being scared of the dark is a bit pathetic, but I’ve seen firsthand what can happen to you on the streets at night.
Ready to catch a cab, I turn from the door. A wave of dizziness washes over me. My feet stag¬ger a step or two forward, before I fall back.
Whoa!
My hand grabs the handle and I hold tight to keep from falling. What is wrong with me? No way should a half glass of wine make me tipsy. Blinking several times fails to focus my eyes. I press my butt against the wall, too unsteady to walk. Minutes later, I still lack equilibrium.
With any luck, Juliette has arrived by now. If I can get her on the phone, she can open up the door. I unzip my purse and root around the con-tents, searching for my cell. The humming flood-light overhead offers mediocre illumination at best. My fingers slip over various objects, identi-fying things more by touch than sight. The phone eludes my grasp as I begin to feel flush.
Briefly, I entertain the thought of sitting on the cement and dumping my purse out on the ground, but the stench discourages the idea. Afraid I might faint soon, I push away from the wall, cursing at Juliette in my head for dragging me to this city and this damn bar. I stagger down the alley hoping I don’t trip.
From the shadows, strong hands latch on to me, spinning me around to shove me up against the wall. A startled shriek es¬capes my lips. My purse drops to the ground with a thud.
“Well, well, what have we here?” says a deep, male voice.
The craziest eyes I have ever seen stare down at me, silvery-grey and somehow luminescent. The latest in ghoul¬ish costume lenses no doubt, but still unnerving.
Adrenalin fuels my muscles, and I struggle against his hold. “Let go of me,” I yelp.
His grasp tightens instead. I watch the plea¬sure of domination cross his face. A schoolyard bully all grown up. He inhales a long sniff, testing my sent. What a freak.
His face bends next to mine, exhaling a cool breath against my ear, “Hmmm, no. I don’t think so, princess. You and I are going to become inti-mately acquainted.”
If his aim was ominous, he hit a bull’s eye. My heart pounds in my chest like an 80’s rock-band drummer on crack—slamming so hard my ribs hurt. My head swims. I need more oxygen.
You can’t faint, Jane.
With a couple of deep breaths, I try to hold it together. I’m up the proverbial creek—I can’t afford to pass out now.
God, help me!
To avoid his disturbing eyes, I turn my face. The creepy pervert takes to smelling my hair while I peer down the alley, searching in vain for another soul. Mysteriously, we are all alone: no homeless people, no drug dealers, or hookers loiter around. It’s just us two, well, except for the rats.
What happened to the big-city riffraff always depicted on TV?
The more important question: why had I agreed to come? How stupid to think I could lasso Juliette, wrangle her out of a bar, and tow her back to my hotel. To hazard an unfamiliar metro¬polis—all by my lonesome—qualifies as a five star dumb-ass idea. There isn’t even a can of pepper spray in my purse thanks to TSA.
“Dude, please let me go, I’m sick.”
His laugh is harsh. “Finders keepers,” he strokes his thumbs over my arms, “losers wee¬pers. It’s going to be a real disappointment for Andaes. Ah, well, about time the bastard got his just deserts.” He grins. “What irony . . . while he woos his redheaded witch, a Viking raids his ter¬ritory and steals his magic. I wish I could see his face when he learns what became of you.”
What?
I have no clue what he’s talking about or whom Andaes might be.
The one sided conversation continues, “You’re as pure as the driven snow, aren’t you, princess? I never imagined the twin of that pretentious bitch would still be a virgin.” He laughs and I assume he is referring to Juliette, but nothing else he says makes any sense. “Andaes wants all the desserts for himself. But I think I’ll stick my finger in his cherry pie.”
He leaves off his vulgar babbling to nip lightly across my neck. The implied threat of his teeth pushes me to the verge of hys¬teria. My whole body shudders in revulsion and my knees buckle. I don’t fall.
His weight holds me pinned against the urine-coated wall. “Don’t fret, we won’t be consum-mating our relationship here in the filth, my sweeting,” he mur¬murs in my ear.
The thin fabric of my shirt clings as sweat breaks out over my body. A rivulet of mois¬ture trickles down the small of my back; the sen¬sation makes my skin crawl.
The self-professed Viking stands well over six feet tall with the build of Thor. Even standing 5’ 10”, he dwarfs me beneath his broad chest.
Don’t react, Jane. Be boring, struggling will excite him more.
Passivity in the face of his lust is my best defense. Hell, it’s my only defense. I’m too sick and physically outmatched to attempt fighting him off. I need to think of some¬thing else. WWJD?
No, not Jesus. Juliette.
“I love the smell of fear, so . . . intoxicat¬ing.” He smirks and forces me harder against the wall, digging a brick into my spine until a gasp escapes my lips.
I squirm. “You’re hurting me, you jerk.” My surviving this with only a bruised back seems more and more unlikely. . . a miracle. Whatever horror story this guy scripted in his twisted mind has no happy ending written for me.
My words go ignored as he runs a cold hand over my face, down my neck to end by squeezing my breast meanly, pinching the tender flesh. “You look so much like your sister; I thought you’d enjoy a little pain.”
“No, I don’t. Please let me go.”
When the tip of his tongue flicks over my ear-lobe, I whimper—humiliated by my own pitiable mewling. This sound makes his breathing quicken, and I press my lips shut. Juliette would never cringe or cry. But I am not her. Our perso-nalities are as opposite as our faces are identical.
With my voice quivering, barely above a whis-per, I pray aloud, “Hail Mary full of grace, the Lord is with thee . . .”
“Silence!” he commands, rearing back in sud-den rage. His pale hand smashes my lips against my teeth until I taste the metallic tang of blood. His bizarre eyes go wide, and he draws his hand away to knuckle up my chin. With deli¬be¬rate slowness, he inches his face towards me, watch¬ing my agonized anticipation. His mouth opens, fangs slide from his gums.
Sweet Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!
In this horrific moment, I realize rape is not his true intent. Every primal instinct screams inside my head—you’re going to die! Passivity will not save me. I am in the clutches of a hungry demon poised to sink his teeth into my neck. I scream in terror, scream at the top of my lungs.
From outside my line of sight, a man streaks forward and yanks the fiend off my body. Free of his bulk, I collapse in a heap into the grime. My unexpected rescue leaves me stunned, and gawk-ing as predator becomes prey.
The fighting happens in a blur my addled brain cannot track. The two thrash back and forth, snarling and curs¬ing. I try to regain my feet, but my legs are Jello.
First crashing into a dumpster—the two men whirl past, inches from me. I press my hands to the concrete, hoping to scoot away, but a foot stomps on the side of my palm, pinching the flesh before flying away again. With a cry, I jerk the hand to my chest.
Moments later, my assailant slams to the ground, blood foaming from his gaping mouth. His strange eyes stare towards me, the unnatural glow fading out. The monster is impaled by a . . . Crucifix?
Bile rises in my throat at the ghastly sight, and I roll to the side, puking. The wine I drank comes up first, then my dinner. The revolting stench of urine further spurs my retching until my stomach cramps with dry heaves.
Tears stream down my cheeks, and my nose runs too, combining to form a slimy mess. The added smell of my vomit induces more rounds of miserable stomach contor¬tions, but I can’t push myself upright. My trembling arms collapse.
My elbows hit the ground, and my head bashes into the brick wall. Stars burst behind my eyes. I cry out in pain. Gentle hands grip my shoulders, rescuing me from a full-on face plant into puke.
Lifted away from the fouled pavement, a handker¬chief wipes my mouth, while a kind voice sooths me with murmured reassurances. As I lose my hold on consciousness, the man scoops me into his stalwart arms and carries me from the alley.
My head lolls against his chest, as I sink mer-cifully into nothingness.
