The door knob felt heavy in my hand as I turned it. It opened with little resistance, though I briefly entertained the suspicion that she might know it was me entering, and would put up some meager effort at resistance. Paranoia had become a part of my life, though I’m not sure when it was that it happened.

She hadn’t turned to acknowledge my presence, but instead was reading one of the 30 or so books I had selected for her before her arrival. Each step had been planned, down to the coloring of the room which I had requested changed at great personal expense. Redecorating someone else’s house was a regrettable, but necessary expense. The people that owned the house were about mohair and plastic — a far cry from my house with its cool marble and distinctly Italian influence. A nod to heritage, I’d like to tell people, in truth it was a setting that felt ‘right.’

I walked to the bar and poured myself a glass of Disaronno. When the cubes hit the glass, she turned and looked up. The book fell from her suddenly limp fingers, and she scrambled to stand.

‘Marco.’ She said my name breathlessly, her eyes fixed upon me, wary and alert. I brought the glass to my lips, sliding my gaze along her body before I reached her face. The first indication something was wrong was the smell; it reached my nose before a drop had touched my mouth. I pinned her with a look and she stiffened, stepping away from me as if we didn’t have an entire room of air dividing us.

I placed the glass on the bar and dipped two fingers in, rubbing them together as I brought them back to my nostrils. ‘Think you’re clever,’ My voice was flat as I noted the fine grain the liquid contained. ‘or perhaps, that I am stupid?’ I wiped my fingers off on a towel and reached for, and poured out, the contents of the bottle. ‘Are they all this way?’

Her lips thinned. ‘Just the ones you drink.’ She said it quietly, her fingers worrying the fabric of her shirt.

I stared at her, hard. ‘Fresh prescription?’ I asked it softly, almost to myself, but still she nodded. I mentally made note to ‘address’ it with Lucio. I rinsed out the glass and settled it upside down on a towel. I faced her. ‘Out of curiosity, after you’d killed me, what was your next step? Open the door and leave?’

‘It was an out, Marco. Do you blame me?’ She said it tightly, her arms wrapped around her body in a hug. ‘I was only trying to put you to sleep.’

I walked closer to where she stood, but she didn’t retreat again. I unbuttoned my jacket, slid it down my arms, and neatly arranged it across the caramel-colored leather of the sofa. I leaned against it, studied her for a moment and then unfastened my cuff links. ‘Sleep, hm?’

‘Sleep.’

‘Come here.’

‘What?’ She looked surprised, her face the picture of feminine confusion. I studied her expression, the knitted line of her brows, the parted surprise lingering on her mouth.

‘Come here.’ I repeated, allowing the terse note to reflect in those two words. She didn’t reply; she didn’t move, but stared at me as if I had grown another head. Still I waited, unwilling too, in this display of will, to relinquish and retrieve her. I wanted her to come to me purely out of the fear of what I might do if she did not comply. It was a mind trick, defeated them long before I ever lifted a finger. In truth, her downfall had already been written in my head, before she ever laid an eye upon me.

I cracked my knuckles, allowed the mask to slide into place. She wet her lips and her eyes darted around the room, lingered briefly on the locked door behind my right shoulder before they returned to mine. She blinked and I saw the moisture in them when she opened them again. I noticed the fine tremble that reverberated through her body. Such details were important, enhanced the fine scent of fear that laced the air.

She startled violently when I refined my position, still leaning against the sofa. I tilted one eyebrow, still waiting her response. She moved quickly then, but only scrambled to the soft looking club chair about 6 feet away - decidedly out of arm’s reach. I digested that mixture of acquiescence and rebellion, but rejected it. ‘Come. Here.’ I said again and pointed to the floor directly in front of me.

She shook her head rapidly and shrank further back into the chair, her legs drawn in tightly, wrapped neatly in the fold of her arms. ‘No. No, Marco.’

‘I don’t believe the request, or the circumstance in which you find yourself, affords you the opportunity to be bold.’

She opened her mouth to speak, but I never heard any words. The expression, and her body, froze when I took the choice from her and moved. I pulled her up from the chair with a rough movement, my fingers digging violently into her arms. She screamed then, and her body jack-knifed in an effort to escape. Her dark hair swung violently as she tried to twist her way out of my hold.

‘Annerire.’ I said her name, trying to permeate the fear over taking her. She still clawed at my arms trying to loosen my grip. I shook her violently, until she was still. Her head rolled back on her shoulders, and she was like a limp doll in my arms.

‘Annerire.’ She lifted her head and stared at me.

And then she bit me.

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This entry was posted on Saturday, November 10th, 2007 at 5:18 pm and is filed under Abduction: Awakening. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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