The Last Vampire - By Christopher Pike Page 0,4
him. He begins to stammer
"Miss Perne," he begins. "You misunderstand me. I mean you no harm. I just want to complete a simple business deal with you. No one has to ... get hurt."
I take in a long, slow breath. I need air, but I can hold my breath for over an hour if I must. Yet now I let out the breath before speaking again, and the room cools even more. And Mr. Riley shivers.
"Answer my question," I say simply.
He coughs. "There is no one else,"
"You'd better reach for your gun."
"Pardon?"
"You are going to die now. I assume you prefer to die fighting.,"
"Miss Perne--"
"I am five thousand years old."
He blinks. "What?"
I give him my full, uncloaked gaze, which I have used in the past--alone--to kill. "I am a vampire," I say softly. "And you have pissed me off."
He believes me. Suddenly he believes every horror story he has been told since he was a little boy. That they were all true: the dead things hungering for the warm living flesh; the bony hand coming out of the closet in the black of night; the monsters from another page of reality, the unturned page--who could look so human, so cute.
He reaches for his gun. Too slowly, much too.
I shove myself out of my chair with such force that I am momentarily airborne. My senses switch into a hyper-accelerated mode. Over the last few thousand years, whenever I am threatened, I have developed the ability to view events in extreme slow motion. But this does not mean that I slow down; quite the opposite. Mr. Riley sees nothing but a blur flying toward him. He does not see that as I'm moving. I have cocked my leg to deliver a devastating blow.
My right foot lashes out. My heel catches him in the center of the breastbone. I hear the bones crack as he topples backward onto the floor, his weapon still bolstered inside his coat. Although I moved toward him in a horizontal position, I land smoothly on my feet. He sprawls on the floor at my feet beside his overturned chair. Gasping for breath, blood pouring out of his mouth. I have crushed the walls of his heart as well as the bones of his chest, and he is going to die. But not just yet. I kneel beside him and gently put my hand on his head. Love often flows through me for my victims.
"Mike," I say gently. "You would not listen to me."
He is having trouble breathing. He drowns in his own blood--I hear it gurgling deep in his lungs--and I am tempted to put my lips to his and suck it away for him. Such a temptation, to sate my thirst. Yet I leave him alone.
"Who?" he gasps at me.
I continue to stroke his head, "I told you the truth. I
am a vampire. You never stood a chance against me. It's not fair, but it is the way it is." I lean close to his mouth, whisper in his ear."Now tell me the truth and I will stop your pain. Who sent you after me?"
He stares at me with wide eyes. "Slim," he whispers.
"Who is Slim? A man?"
"Yes."
"Very good, Mike. How do you contact him?"
"No."
"Yes." I caress his cheek. "Where is this Slim?"
He begins to cry. The tears, the blood--they make a pitiful combination. His whole body trembles. "I don't want to die," he moans. "My boy."
"Tell me about Slim and I will take care of your boy," I say. My nature is kind, deep inside. I could have said if you don't tell me about Slim, I will find your dear boy and slowly peel off his skin. But Riley is in too much pain to hear me, and I immediately regret, striking so swiftly, not slowly torturing the truth out of him. I did tell him that I was impulsive when I'm angry, and it is true.
"Help me," he pleads, choking.
"I'm sorry. I can only kill, I cannot heal, and you are too badly hurt." I sit back on my heels and glance around the office. I see on the desktop a picture of Mr. Riley posed beside a handsome boy of approximately eighteen. Removing my right hand from Mr. Riley, I reach for the picture and show it to him. "Is this your son?" I ask innocently.
Terror consumes his features. "No!" he cries.
I lean close once more. "I am not going to hurt him. I only want this Slim. Where is he?"
A spasm of