Beyond Nocturne Ch. 05

Maricel sat up and looked at Tiffany. She said, "I realized I'm not who I thought I was anymore. I've changed in some major ways, Tiffany, and sometimes it's scary for me."

"Change is always good," Tiffany smiled, her full pouty lips a seductive frame to white, perfect teeth. Maricel could sense that Tiffany believed they were talking about sex, and while that may have been true on some level, there was a darker purpose. Not that Tiffany could see that, or was even sharp enough to see five feet past her own nose. Maricel smiled, the grin of a cat that was just about to eat a canary.

"I think so," Maricel pulled her t-shirt off with one fluid motion, revealing her naked breasts to Tiffany and Missy. Tiffany only sat there and smiled, amazed and shocked. Missy looked at her, eyes filled with a desire and hunger. They had been trying to seduce her into a threesome for so long, and now after of years of refusal, she was coming on to them.

"I thought you weren't into women," Missy said uncertainly, drinking her friend's body in.

Maricel stood up, moved to the center of the room and unzipped her jeans. She dropped them to the floor, slipped her shoes off and kicked the pants away. She stood naked in front of them, the thirst amplifying her horniness and charging her with a euphoria she had never known.

"Like you said Tiff," she smiled as the darkness overtook her. She ran her tongue over the tips of the fangs inside her mouth as she rubbed her breasts, "Change is always good."

***

Lydia sat back in her chair, the entire story (minus the incident at Steve's apartment) told about who she was and what she had been doing on the fire escape when she saw Larry about to kill Maricel. Michael looked like he expected to wake up from a dream, his mind processing the incredible nature of Lydia's story. He was silent for what seemed like an eternity. They had been talking for over three hours now, and the clock on the wall beside her desk read out that it was past nine in the evening.

Michael had listened to her story, his face cool and expressionless. He thought her tale might fit better between episodes of "Tales from the Crypt" and "The Red Shoe Diaries." He had heard a lot of tall tales from people over the years, everything from aliens in the toaster oven to demons in the cerebellum making people castrate themselves. He couldn't quite tell if she was feeding him a line of bullshit or not, though her explanations seemed to fit the facts.

Sure, she flew in through the window at a high speed... sure, she boiled Crispin's brain with her mind... sure. His doubt was kept in check only by the undeniable feeling that she was in fact telling the truth. But it still didn't explain Stephen, or that thing in the alley.

She was still holding back.

"Okay, let me get this straight," he said, popping some aspirin in his mouth and dry swallowing them, "You are a three hundred year old vampire, a telepath, and a member of a species of...nocturnals... that exist outside the normal flow of the human race. You have to kill every few days in order to survive and one night you happened upon an infamous serial killer about to pop a hooker, you flew in, saved the day and let her go free."

"That's right."

"You just flew in the window like Supergirl?"

"That's right."

"And is Count Chocula the leader of this vampire nation?" he laughed.

"No," she responded smoothly, "A man named Demeras is currently in charge."

"I see," Michael shook his head in disbelief. Was she crazy? Was he crazy?

"You don't believe me?"

"No," he said, standing up from the chair and leaning against the wall as he lit a cigarette. He offered one to Lydia, and she took it. It was a Camel Light, her favorite.

"You know these will kill you," she said as he pulled out his lighter and flicked it on, igniting his cigarette.

"And they won't kill you, right?" he replied, touching the flame to the end of her smoke.

"No, actually," Lydia smiled. "Regeneration."

"This is bullshit," he said, a jet of smoke escaping his nostrils.

"Think of my wounds from the alley," she said to him, "You saw it yourself, I had a gash across my face that would have scarred a normal personal for the rest of their life. I healed in a half an hour, with no scar."

"Maybe I was loopy from the alcohol and morphine?" he countered, "I could have seen Elvis on a date Mama Cass and been fine with it."

Lydia regarded him coolly. "Your experience with morphine is such that you can tell when you're too far along to know what's real and what's not."

Michael reeled inwardly from the low blow. "How did you know about that?"

"I know a lot about you," she said, taking a deep drag on her smoke, "I know that you've been battling a morphine addiction ever since your first partner died, I know that your wife, Barbara, wasn't it-?"

"Yes," he said quietly.

"-Barbara left you because of the addiction and because she couldn't watch you destroy yourself," Lydia continued, "I know you miss your wife every night, and you miss your son every day. I know that your brother's death had truly hollowed you out, and now that Rossetti is gone, you've considered a more permanent solution to your problems."

"What?" he asked incredulously.

"Don't be so deliberately obtuse with me," Lydia stood up and walked over to him, her stride graceful and powerful. The position of power in this conversation had been shifting back and forth between them all night, and Lydia had to reclaim control. She stood in front of him, their smoke mingling as she looked into his eyes. "This morning, after Chief Hollins suspended you and read you the riot act, you went home, drew a bath and got in..."

Michael tensed, his cool façade crumbling fast.

"You took the gun from behind the couch," she paused for a moment, taking another drag and seemed to look through him, "The one you keep 'just in case'..."

Michael said nothing.

"You brought it with you into the tub. You loaded the gun and put it in your mouth, hoping that the hollow point bullets would blow enough of your brain away to effectively kill you. But you couldn't, something was preventing you from pulling the trigger. And you wept, Michael. You cried and unloaded the gun, placing the clip on the washbasin."

"How did you know?" he whispered, awestruck at her complete knowledge of what had happened. He felt his world falling apart, and he could no longer hide it. He leaned against the wall fully, his own weight almost too much to bear. She was inside his head again, and he could feel her presence.

"We joined that night I saved you, Michael," she said softly, her nose only a mere inch away from his, her breasts pressed against him firmly creating a wonderful pressure.

"How did you heal me?"

She said, "I don't know. I don't how that happened, but a piece of me passed to you. Maybe it was our skin touching, or the intensity of the emotions we shared."

"You almost bit me," he realized.

"Yes I did," she admitted. "But I didn't."

Lydia turned to walk away, unable to maintain her composure as his emotions flooded her. Michael was getting to her, and she felt she was going to have to run as far as she could from him to avoid the feelings he was stirring up yet again.

"Why," he asked. "Why didn't you bite me?"

"Because you're special, Michael," she said and added, "You wouldn't understand."

"Then show me."

"I can't."

"Do what you did to me before," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder again. This time she made no defensive move against him and no anger came from her. Michael felt a swell in his heart for her, and felt he was on the verge of something incredible, something crucial. "Show me Lydia."

"I can't."

"Please," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're still holding back on me. Please help."

Lydia turned to him slowly, and pulled him close to her so their bodies were flat against each other. Michael felt his heart beating in his ears, the blood pumping furiously through his body as her thigh wedged between his legs. He felt an erection, maybe the most ferocious one he had ever had, growing in his pants. If this bothered Lydia, she gave no indication as her hip pressed into his crotch. She opened her hands and placed her palms on the sides of his head, letting her fingers drape over him.

Her lips trembled a little as she let her eyes melt into his, past the barriers of the physical world and beyond into the soul. Michael shuddered as she penetrated him, entering his world and opening a doorway between them.

Michael was thrown abruptly forward in his mind, speeding along at a dizzying speed as he was brought forth into her mind. He was almost blinded as he saw the intricate tapestry of her being. Her emotions and thoughts touched him physically within this realm, brilliant with color and searing with internal luminescence. They swirled and coalesced around him like a second skin, saturating him. He saw her life, the long nights and even longer days she had spent so terribly alone. He felt the guilt over her countless victims, and sweet Jesus there was so many of them as he sped by. Each of their faces memorized and committed memory, like a memorial display in a museum of atrocities. They screamed and bellowed, a part of them all forever trapped within.

He saw the darkness itself, the thirst hanging over Lydia's mind like a pitch-black storm system. It roiled and churned in the infinite space of her soul, lightning flashes touching her heart and burning. In the mass of this spectral incarnation of the darkness, a face rolled under the surface of its reality, stretching and bending the cloud cover as though it were a thin cloth pulled too tight. The face leered at him, powerful and alive with an inhuman intelligence. It was an unholy entity from beyond the world, connecting all of its hosts together in bondage for the soul, heart, and mind.

Lydia felt her grip tighten slightly as they were both wracked by the power of their fusing, and blood began trickling from Michael's nose in a small snail trail.

"I... have to...stop," she whispered, her voice quick and breathless.

"No," he snapped, putting his hands to hers, his eyes locked, "NO!"

Lydia realized that she couldn't terminate the bond now. He was using that part of herself she had passed to him that night as a wedge, a barrier preventing her from shutting the link down. She desperately tried to fight it as Michael neared the memories she did not want him to see.

The face disappeared and the storm clouds lit up, as though someone were projecting on a movie onto them. Michael saw the murder of Larry Crispin, the terrible deeds he had done, and the rescue of Maricel LaVoy. He witnessed the biting of her to save her from the AIDS virus and the subsequent transformation. He saw the moment she and Lydia had shared right here in this basement, he saw the feelings that Lydia harbored for him, the unexplainable attraction she was nurturing. Michael could feel the wind of the psychic journey on his face grow cold and frigid as images of his brother bombarded him.

This is what she wouldn't tell him, the elusive piece to the puzzle.

"No," they both said in unison, their voices filled with sorrow and regret.

Michael could feel her guilt as though it were his own. He felt Lydia trying to block this memory, but she was failing. Michael summoned all his will and pushed forward. He saw his brother, so innocent and naive in his sheltered little existence walking along the street. Through Lydia's eyes, he watched the events of his last night alive unfold.

"No," they sobbed, their minds unifying into one. Michael was now feeling what she had felt, their hearts merging.

Michael saw them together, in bed and making love. Lydia had tricked Stephen into loving her, and he had brought her home with him. Michael was astonished by the power of the love Stephen had felt for her. It dawned on him just how lonely his brother really had been, how being so afraid of letting anyone in had cost him his happiness. But in this memory, Michael saw that he had found happiness in Lydia for those few minutes before the kill. Michael felt his heart break, shattered over the misguided love of his brother, the abused emotions and tragedy that was to inevitably follow.

He saw the umbrella, Lydia's umbrella in the corner, forgotten and cast off. He could feel the sensations of their sex, and the emotions that his brother had unlocked within her. Tears flowed from his eyes like a waterfall as he saw Lydia lose the battle against her demons, and bite into Stephen. He watched the grisly murder as though he had committed it, and he began to scream.

"Why did you do this?" they asked each other, their voices still locked and synched together, Michaels anger unleashing inside their bodies

"I couldn't stop," they wept, Lydia's guilt overpowering them just as quickly as the truth was revealed, "I couldn't stop. I wanted to, but I couldn't. Forgive me please..."

And then, out of nowhere, a black shadow fell over their minds. It was powerful and evil, filled with rage and hate, fueled by an infinite depth. They gasped, their bodies convulsing together as the fight in the alley appeared in the clouds, like a grainy picture from a movie. He saw the monstrosity, and the moment of recognition from Lydia when she saw it was Stephen. His body hadn't been stolen, and only one person had killed the doctor and guard at the morgue after he had become this creature. In the dreamlike flashback, it looked right Michael and said in a wet, gurgling voice, "Brother..."

Blood was now steadily flowing from Michael's ears and eyes as he began to lose consciousness. Lydia held her breath, and with a desperate scream she broke the bond, sending them both reeling backwards. Michael hit the wall with a thud and slumped to the floor as Lydia hit her desk, falling to her knees. Michael's blood was in her hands as she stared at him, his eyes wide and filled with crimson tears

"Oh my God," he whispered over and over.

"Michael," she tried to speak, but her throat was closed off. She felt the anguish of her actions threatening to destroy her, and all she could do was bury her face in her bloody hands.

Then, as if lightning had struck both of them, they froze, each of them grimacing with pain. They were electrified with a psychic energy, pulsating with it as another mind met theirs and seized their thoughts. As the picture being forced into their minds began to focus, Michael and Lydia saw Maricel through a window with two other women, naked and enticing them.

'That's impossible, she's here,' Lydia thought.

'No she's not,' Michael replied mentally.

Lydia realized that someone was watching Maricel, that it was not Maricel herself broadcasting this image.

The creature had followed her, and was getting ready to attack.

***

Maricel smiled as she massaged their minds with her own, using her new abilities to make them more receptive to her suggestions. She could smell their blood pumping furiously through their veins, excited and aroused as they stood up from the couch. Missy had a dreamlike quality to her face as Maricel bent her mind to her will. Missy pulled her nightshirt off and exposed her body to Maricel. She wasn't as toned as Tiffany', but her body was round and supple, her breasts fully peaked. She was a perfect example of how a woman should look in Maricel's opinion.

Just like Lydia, she thought...

Tiffany had been the easiest to control as Maricel turned her gaze towards her, her eyes burning with lust, her heart smoldering in the heat of the darkness.

"Take your shirt off, Tiff," she instructed.

"Okay," she whispered as she pulled the tube top off, letting her massive breasts hang free. Maricel saw the twin scars on her breasts where the implants had gone in, faintly visible against her tanned flesh. Tiffany rubbed her nipples and moaned, her eyes never leaving Maricel.

"Missy, take her sweats off," Maricel touched Missy's chin and nudged toward Tiffany. Missy smiled and slid her hands down Tiffany's body, over her ribs and then to her hips. She palmed the sides of the sweats and slid them down, revealing Tiffanys bald pussy. She daintily stepped out of them and stood straight, with Missy beside her. Tiffany put her arms around Missy and looked expectantly at Maricel.

"Love me," she whispered, opening her arms to them. They went to her and embraced her, rubbing their bodies on her, the wetness of their cunts drenching her thighs as she caressed them. She cupped their breasts and kissed them both. Maricel was drunk with her power, lost in the possibilities of her decadent desires as the thirst raged inside her. She felt Missy drop to her knees and begin licking her pussy, putting one leg on her shoulder as she worked her tongue in and out. Tiffany went behind her and held her, massaging her breasts and necking on her. Maricel laughed, her head thrown back as she reveled in the pleasure.

Maricel lay down on the floor, and Missy followed her, returning to work on her crotch as Tiffany straddled her face, bringing her pussy to bear. Maricel grasped her thighs and began licking, suckling on her. She couldn't see Tiffany's face, her view blocked by her huge breasts, but she knew Tiffany was on the verge of an orgasm. Maricel stimulated both their minds and kicked their pheromones into overdrive. Missy moaned uncontrollably into her pussy, causing Maricel to come close to her own orgasm.

When Tiffany's hips bucked and her pussy spasmed, the orgasm hitting her hard and fast, Maricel revealed her fangs and plunged them into the tender skin just above her cunt. Tiffany screamed, a rapturous mix of pleasure and pain as blood gushed over Maricel's face and soaked the carpet. Her body convulsed as Maricel drank deeply from her. She could taste the vaginal fluid mingling with the blood. Tiffany's eyes rolled back white in the dim, red light of the living room, her breasts bouncing with each convulsion. Her arms hung limp at her sides as she felt her body growing cold. A strangled gurgle floated from her mouth as the vampiric virus invaded her body.

Maricel was so transfixed with Tiffany that her mental hold on Missy began to slip. Missy slowly came around to her senses. It wasn't so much that she had her face in Maricel's cunt, or the fact that she was flicking her clit with her tongue that made her stop suddenly. When she felt something slick on Maricel's stomach and looked, seeing dark red blood smeared across her hand, Missy throat hitched and she tried to scream. Only a pathetic whimper eeked out.

She got to her knees, her hand held out in front of her in shock, her mouth slung open in a stupid gape. She looked and saw Tiffany, her back to her, shaking and writhing like some twisted marionette. Tiffany's head fell back at an impossible angle, and she knew that something was wrong now, something horribly wrong. Only the shiny whites of Tiffany's eyes stared blankly at her, her mouth lolled open and her tongue poking out. Missy found her voice and screamed.

She stood up to run, but Maricel heaved Tiffany off her like a rag doll and she tripped over her girlfriend. Maricel was on her like a rabid wolf, her hands impossibly strong as they gripped her biceps and then crushed them. Missy was screaming bloody murder now as Maricel bared her fangs, hissed and plunged into her neck so hard that blood spurted to the ceiling. Missy fought for a few minutes before her voice drowned in her own blood. Then venom paralyzed her as it had Tiffany, and she lay limp on the blood soaked carpet as Maricel feasted on her.

Maricel could only utter feral growls and animal-like noises as she drank deeply of both of them, relishing the feeling of her naked body sliding over theirs, the blood a hot, slick reminder of her new passion. She laughed and began licking the blood off them. She started with Tiffany's still rock hard nipples, taking time to clean them thoroughly and finished ten minutes later with Missy's hands. She sucked each blood stained finger clean, her lips sliding off each tip with a satisfied * pop *!