Читать книгу Blood RED - Paul Kane - Страница 10

PROLOGUE

Her husband was a stranger tonight—and she’d never been so happy.

In the last couple of years, Michelle and Tony Marsden had drifted apart, day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute.

It had happened slowly and subtly.

Nothing she could really put her finger on, just a general apathy regarding their union that both of them felt, yet neither would broach. It was almost as though their marriage was some fragile culture being grown in a lab, which at any moment might break down and vanish, and the scientists could do nothing but stand by and watch.

Their wedding day had been a wonderful affair—full of happiness, love and hope. But like the beautiful tiered cake they’d cut into, cracking the icing and destroying its perfect shape, nothing lasts forever. There had been tears in her eyes as he said his vows, promising to love her for all time, to be her shelter in stormy weather. She never thought it was possible to feel this way about another human being. But in the months that followed, there had been tears in her eyes on any number of occasions ... for altogether different reasons.

They’d married too soon, she could see that looking back. After meeting at a mutual friend’s housewarming party, they seemed to click: same taste in music, same love of the arts and literature—especially the classics—same wanderlust that took the pair to almost every country on the planet. Within a few weeks, they were holidaying together, Tony whisking her off to Venice. There, in a secluded little restaurant away from the tourists, he’d proposed to her, getting down on one knee and bringing out a diamond ring. She’d needed time to think, of course. It was a decision she’d have to live with for the rest of her natural life (she was an old-fashioned girl in that respect, regardless of what the divorce statistics said). Tony, ever the gentleman, gave her that time.

Her friends were all jealous. Tony was quite a catch, they’d proclaimed. A decent job working in life insurance—a good, stable profession—a nice car, but most importantly, those Colin Farrell looks (with a body to match, she’d boasted after a few drinks one night). When her closest friend asked what she was waiting for, Michelle asked herself the same question. It was obvious the man adored her.

Michelle’s family was more sceptical. “You’ve only known him five minutes,” said her father, which she had to admit was right.

Her mother reserved judgement until she’d met Tony, and after suitably impressing her by bringing along flowers and chocolates, she’d said to her own husband, “Now, George, sometimes a woman just knows when she’s found ‘the one’ ...” Michelle’s father had snorted, but she could tell that in spite of his protestations—and the fact that no man she’d ever brought to meet them had been good enough—he grudgingly approved of Tony.

Michelle accepted the proposal after a night out at the cinema: the Regal was hosting a special screening of Casablanca, one of her all-time favourite films. She’d sat there and watched again as Ingrid and Humphrey said goodbye, and resolved that she would never let her one true love go like that. Ever. The rest, as they say, was history.

“More wine?” asked Tony now, pouring another glassful of the deep red Bordeaux into her glass. She smiled a thank you, and he blew a kiss back.

She still couldn’t quite believe what had happened this weekend. This was a Tony she didn’t know; or rather, it was the Tony she used to know back when they first got together. Perhaps the other Tony, the one who’d taken their relationship for granted as soon as that band of gold had slid onto her finger, had been the stranger, not this man. The Tony who’d been content to watch the news or football—he’d kept that particular interest well under wraps when they initially started seeing each other—of an evening instead of going out, or even coming to bed, definitely wasn’t the man she’d walked up that aisle for. Nor was this Tony too busy with work, too obsessed with getting a promotion to take her away—in spite of her heavy-handed hints, leaving brochures scattered about the place.

“If you want to go, love, you go,” he’d say. But she’d done all the travelling alone she wanted to do. Now she wanted someone to share it with.

It wasn’t that Tony had been nasty or anything to her; far from it. Sometimes she wished he’d take enough interest to get drawn into a row. At least then she might get a little passion from him, something that was sadly lacking in their life at the moment. He’d still buy her things, or more often than not let her buy things on his card. But money, as all those wise philosophisers were so fond of stating, wasn’t everything. Besides which, she still had a job at the local infant school in the admin department—there was money of her own coming in.

(That was another area where Michelle was unable to get through to Tony. Seeing all those little faces made her think more and more about her biological clock, but as far as her husband was concerned, kids were something to ‘think about’ in the future. If only they’d talked about it before getting hitched, sounded each other out about their feelings ...)

As the couple grew more distant, and the life Michelle thought she’d be leading slipped gradually away from her, she began to think that her father had been right all along. They hadn’t known each other five minutes before committing, and that one simple mistake was going to cost her a lifetime of happiness—while the inches between them increased in the matrimonial bed, neither one even touching the other any more.

But they were touching each other now, weren’t they? Tony’s hand across the table, holding hers so tightly. Their feet finding each other’s legs under the tablecloth. Michelle took a swig of the freshly-poured wine, the perfect accompaniment to the stuffed peppers they’d had for starters, the spaghetti carbonara for main, and for dessert ... Ah, well, she thought impishly, we may not even have that here at all!

She’d thought everything was lost when Tony had announced he was going away Friday night to Sunday morning on business—the latest in a long line of trips. If she’d been the jealous type, she might have suspected he was up to something behind her back. But Tony couldn’t even be bothered with the one woman he had, let alone complicating things with a mistress. Anyway, she’d followed him—twice—just to make sure. It was exactly as he’d said: business, strictly business, meeting middle-aged men in hotel lounges and bars to talk about the prospect of making money from the fear of death. That’s when he wasn’t spending hours in the car travelling to such obscure locations.

And she might have been worried again about the Tony that returned early Saturday to surprise her with dinner booked for two at a cosy Italian on the outskirts of town, a reminder of a time long ago. “Client backed out at the last minute, so I drove home,” he told her. But far from seeming disappointed by this, Tony was positively chipper. “Means I get to spend the weekend with my lovely wife,” he’d said before presenting her with a big bunch of roses.

Michelle looked at him sideways. Was this to make up for something he’d done? Yet the more he talked, the more she realised it was to make up for something he hadn’t. “I know I’ve been neglecting you lately,” Tony said, “but all that’s going to change from now on. I’m going to pay you more attention—starting right now!”

And he did—beginning in the bedroom, then moving on to the bathroom, in the shower, and finally once more in the kitchen. He was like a force of nature that afternoon, as they’d made love again and again. Not even when they were enjoying the ‘honeymoon’ period had they carried on like this; not even when they’d risked doing it in public, on that hillside after a picnic, or in that alleyway when they couldn’t wait to get home one night. Tony had ground away inside her relentlessly, her moans of pleasure encouraging him still further, it seemed. She’d barely had time to recover before they’d had to get ready and leave for the restaurant; eight o’clock sharp he’d told her the table was booked for.

Now, satisfied in more ways than one, Michelle took in the features of her husband by candlelight as if seeing him for the first time. Had her prayers truly been answered? Had she—after all that worrying—been right to marry Tony all along? It would seem so, because there was no mistaking the love in those eyes tonight. No mistaking that selfsame feeling within her, too. It was as though the last few years had never even happened and they were back in Venice again; young, giddy lovers with their whole lives ahead of them.

She’d only gotten halfway down the glass—her third of the evening—when it became clear that the drink was having an effect on more than just her inhibitions. “Tony,” she whispered. “I have to go to the little girls’ room.”

He nodded and grinned as she attempted to get up from the table—almost bumping into the corner as she walked away. She looked around to see if any of the other diners had seen her, then realised there were only a handful left. Had they been here so long? He blew a kiss as she went down the corridor.

Michelle found the door with the ‘Ladies’ symbol on it and pushed. It opened into a room with sinks on the left and two cubicles on the right.

She paused for a moment to admire herself in the mirrors above the sinks, brushing her long brown hair back over her shoulders. She adjusted the top of the velvet halter-neck dress, the one she saved only for very special occasions (it hadn’t been used in a while), smoothing down the material over her stomach and legs and brushing off any lint that had stuck to it from the tablecloth. Then she entered the cubicle and emptied her bladder.

While she was in there she heard the main door go again. She thought nothing of it at first, assuming it was one of the other female diners in the restaurant.

Until there was a knock at the door.

Michelle frowned. “Er ... H-Hello?”

There was no answer, but the knocking came again—a gentle rapping on the door. Maybe there was no loo paper in the other cubicle and someone wanted to borrow a few sheets from her, she thought. But then a voice at the door whispered her name: “Michelle.”

It was Tony, the silly devil—what was he doing in here? She rose, making herself decent, then went to the door and undid the lock. There he was, grinning that same grin he had done when she got up.

“Tony?” she started, but he placed a finger on her lips. She opened her eyes in puzzlement, then his hand moved down from her face. He cupped her breast through the velvet of the dress, flicking at the nipple that was hardening beneath his expert touch.

She let out a breath. “We can’t ...” she protested. “What if someone comes in?” But even as she was saying it, her heart was pounding inside her chest. This was just like the picnic, just like the alleyway. This was what had been missing for so long, even that afternoon.

The excitement of getting caught.

His hand moved further down and brushed the front of her dress, sliding in and rubbing the space between her legs. At the same time, his tongue worked on her lips, her neck. She fought the urge to cry out at his actions.

Tony bent lower, guiding one of her straps down with his other hand, freeing a breast, which he massaged vigorously. Then he brought that hand down to meet the other, lifting her dress until he’d pushed it back over her thighs and revealed the tops of her black stockings—also items reserved for a special occasion like this. In seconds, he’d pulled down her panties and shoved his head between her legs, hands gripping her as she quivered, each fresh lap of his tongue sending her into convulsions of delight.

“Oh God,” she groaned heavily. “Oh God, Tony, eat me ... eat me all up.”

Michelle cocked back her head, hands clutching first the sides of the cubicles for support, then Tony’s shoulders, pressing him further into her, coaxing his exertions.

It was as she brought her head back down that she saw it. Glimpsed quickly, she dismissed the vision at first as being imagined, or due to the wine. But no. As she blinked and opened her eyes again, she saw it quite clearly in the mirrors opposite.

She squirmed, but this time she was trying to pull herself away from her husband. He in turn, sensing her distress, kept a tighter hold on her legs—burying his mouth even further into her sex.

When he began to bite, Michelle could hold back her screams no longer—had no wish to, in fact. The pain was excruciating, as his teeth ripped into her most sensitive of areas. She screamed, not only because of the pain, but because she needed help now; she needed help badly. Tony brought his mouth away, blood smeared across his lips and dribbling down his chin as he chewed the most intimate parts of her. Her eyes were watering, but there was worse to come.

The hands that had only moments ago kneaded her breasts as an act of love were now fastened onto them, squeezing with nails so sharp, they slid effortlessly into the flesh before cleaving it away from her body.

He rose, leaving more redness to pour from between her legs and from her chest. The thing that looked like Tony stared at her with wild eyes, opening its mouth wider than she’d ever seen another human being do. But in the mirror, oh Jesus, in the mirror ... Michelle could do nothing as he took a chunk out of her neck, pulling tendons away with the first snap. He ate like a ravenous animal, swallowing hard before crunching down on her cheek as well—leaving a gaping hole that exposed her molars. What few blows she’d had the energy to muster bounced ineffectually off her attacker’s hard torso, and soon she’d lost even that amount of fight.

Michelle’s neck was hanging open, her lifeblood escaping from a dozen wounds before he was done. But one single thread of hope was offered to her. The door opened and in came one of the waitresses that had served their meal earlier. She took one look at Michelle, at Tony, at the mess in the cubicle—and she screamed much louder than Michelle could ever manage now with no throat.

Tony dropped his wife, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his sports jacket. He stared at the waitress as if wondering whether he had time for his third dinner of the evening, then he turned tail and leapt at the window—which was barely big enough for him to escape through. But escape he did, smashing the glass and ignoring the shards that did their best to cut him.

Michelle, on the floor, tried to keep her head still—gargling with her own juices. Just hold on ... Hold on ... she told herself. You’re going to be all right.

Except the look on the waitress’ horrified face told her she was so very far from that condition. That it was definitely time to cash in on that life insurance policy her husband had set up for her ... well, it was what he did after all.

Her husband, that is. Her real husband—the boring Tony who’d never in his life ripped out anyone’s throat or chewed off their ... She missed that Tony now more than anything. And she wished she’d had a chance to tell him that, to try and set a few things right. Instead, she’d wasted it on him: the stranger.

But the last thing that went through Michelle’s mind as her life ebbed away, was how red her blood was. Bright, so bright. And how there was enough inside her almost to paint this bathroom.

Then the red became maroon ...

Before finally turning to black.