Angel in that Bed of Filth

There was a point in time where the heartbeat was a precious clock—but now it was just a song that ended at death. It flowed through a woman's grinding thighs covered by her yellow summer dress, showed through her hot cheeks painted with a sheen of sweat as she moved like a sickly swan through the sea of pounding beats and flowing bodies. This night was a cool one, sharp with October's chill, but in here hell's furnace was pumping out heat and lust like the human's fast breathing.

She was pretty enough to be a lawyer's daughter: bright eyes, a wild mess of brown curls, a wide smiling mouth, firm breasts. I smiled, no wedding ring. Most likely here to pick up a man or two. But this little sheep was in the wrong pen—you know the one with the gate wide open and the broken fence just waiting for the predator? And like the wolf I was, I was flattered by such a voiceless invitation and mixed in with the throng of men and women, their skin illuminated like butterfly wings under the wild strobe lights.

I plucked her from her group of clucking, giggling friends, their hands holding maybe thier second or third martini--how cute, girls trying to be women with their high-class flair and loose clothing. She looked at me and I flashed her my most human, coy smile. "Dance with me?"

She giggled and accepted, too drunk and high on adrenaline and happiness to care. The song changed and beats throbbed from the speakers, matching her heartbeat. Perfect. She began to sway and I moved with her, acting as if this were only natural, as if we were strangers. But I knew, from the weeks of watching her, that she went to Laurier University, studied English; drove a beat up Cadillac, and that the window of her bedroom was the one above the garage, with the creamy white curtains.

She became braver and her movement was jerky, slow and intimate. I didn't smile but just let her get lost in her own small piece of euphoria. Leading her off the dance floor, still moving as if to dance, I led her to a darkened corner. Shoving her against the wall, I buried my head in her sweaty, hot neck sniffing deeply. "Ah," I growled, "You're beautiful, Caroline."

"How do you know my name?" But her speech was much more slurred and sexy. I fondled her breasts and kissed her neck.

"No, reason love." I caressed her cheek and let her tip her head back to watch the strobe lights, with the happiness of an autistic child. She smiled and I kissed her neck again, inhaling greedily now. As I let my fangs pierce her skin, my hands wandered under her summer dress and the lace panties she wore. She clung to me now, lost in this passionless expression of love. I felt myself enter her soon after and my hands were left to their own plans of sliding down the front of the dress and letting her whimper and writhe as I pressed her against the wall again, deeper with each thrust of my hips. Pretty soon the pleasure building in my stomach released itself in a vicious moan that was lost in the bloodied shroud that had been her summer dress. "Oh, Caroline, such a waste of pretty flesh." She was silent now, her skin slowly turning a lovely shade of cool white in my equally pale hands. I carried her out, careful to dazzle the doorman with one of my more innocent smiles. "She needs some fresh air--she's fainted." but the human didn't spare me more then a glance before letting more people in. He looked bored, to say the least.

Melting into the shadows, I tucked change into the cup of her bra--she was a good and cooperative donor—and let the corpse slide into a dumpster. She was a fallen angel in that bed of filth, waiting for her lover to return, her arms spread wide for him, her dress a martyr's banner—red and torn on her spider-like body. and I smirked as I disappeared into the chilly October air, whistling aimlessly.