Damon made his way systematically through the darkest parts of Lespire in the early dawn hours, hoping that this wouldn’t take him into the afternoon, because then his way home would be blocked off completely until evening. Maybe he should have told somebody where he was going? No. He dismissed that thought almost immediately. There was no point to it, they would have told him not to go, and simply knowing about what he was going to do put them in danger of being incarcerated. Protecting himself alone was a lot easier than having to protect the three of them.
Words of discouragement would not have affected his resolve. He was stubborn, and knew it. There was no way he would have backed down, especially in this matter. His mind strayed to Isabelle and hoped that she slept. His chest ached and he hissed as his concentration lapsed and he crossed through a patch of sunlight. He stopped for a moment, one hand against a brick wall, leaning a little as he regained himself. He couldn’t afford to allow that to happen again. He took a breath and pushed himself up straight, focusing his yellow gaze on his destination, which wasn’t far now.
The local hospital wasn’t a large building, but it dwarfed those on either side of it, being small shops and the occasional middle class restaurant. There weren’t many more shadows for him to hide in, but waiting until that night before acting wasn’t an option. For one, he couldn’t wait too much longer until his hunger became blind bloodlust. As much as he wouldn’t have wanted it, his survival instinct would kick in sooner or later and then he could hurt whoever was closest to him. At the same time, he had to be hungry, the hunger only fuelled and facilitated the killing edge he was riding. He would kill, it was his only objective tonight. Someone would die.
He slipped a hand into his jacket pocket, feeling the cold cylinders that held the same sedative that had rendered a centuries old vampire all but useless. His fury surfaced once again and spiked, roiling beneath his skin. He braced himself and stepped into the sun. Regardless of his skin tone, he had not stood in the sun in what seemed like an age. The warmth of it was heavenly before the headache smashed into the back of his head with the force of a team of draft horses. His skin seemed to heat exponentially, as if having trouble letting the warmth dissipate again. He didn’t have much time before his hunger demanded he fix the damage he was doing to himself and sent him into a mindless state.
Erasing all traces of discomfort from his sculpted face, he moved forward, his movements carefully controlled and precise, more graceful than a dancer and more dangerous than an atomic bomb. There was relief when he entered the building, but it was only slight as the place was open to accept the bright, welcoming rays of the traitorous sun. He glided to the administration desk, placing a hand on the counter in a casual movement that allowed him something to lean on discretely.
I was only then that he realised he hadn’t known the nurse’s name. It didn’t matter. He turned a charming smile on the woman that sat at the desk, who had now turned to him, having finished whatever slightly more important task she was carrying out. She gaped. He didn’t even blink, after hundreds of years, he was used to it. He noted the ring on her left hand.
“Good Morning Madam. I was wondering if you could provide me with some information.” As he spoke, he affected her mind, or at least her memory. She wouldn’t remember anything of this encounter, but she wasn’t rendered useless.
She blinked once, twice then nodded. “And what information might you be seeking?” She asked courteously.
“I need to see a nurse. Unfortunately I’m not sure of her name, but she helped me out immensely while I was here yesterday and I would like to thank her.” He said smoothly, his smile warm despite the glacier cold he was harbouring behind his yellow eyes. He gave her the details of the ward she worked and the time of their encounter in Isabelle’s room.
She smiled; charmed at the apparently obvious gratitude he had for the work they did and looked through the records for the ward staff and room assignments. She gave him the name and the office number he would find her in. He nodded, thanked her and left her grinning in a silly manner as she picked up a ringing phone.
Damon weaved around small clusters of friends and family in various stages of worry and elation, heading back to the ward he had been in the previous night when he had met the wonderful mystery that was Miss Isabelle Swan. She had a beautiful name…
With a barely discernable frown he consciously cleared his mind once again. He couldn’t think like that. Not now. He didn’t have the time, and he couldn’t afford to trip up now.
He turned a corner and plastered a sultry smile on his face when he saw the person he was after. She looked up and a look of pure amazement crossed her face. The woman worked night duty. She looked like she was just packing up to go home for the day. She looked tired and ragged. His fury spiked.
Not willing to waste anymore time, afflicted with terrible pain and having to swallow constantly from the saliva that was filling his mouth, he took her hand and led her ahead of him. He had inspected the blue prints for the building the first time he had looked at purchasing it and he knew there was a fire door somewhere along this corridor he could use. But he also knew there was a guard outside the door, on account of the mentally deficient patients that wandered around, especially at night.
His grip was deceptively gentle on her wrist and so she didn’t struggle, no doubt thinking he was going to drag her off to indulge in carnal activities. A predatory smile darkened his face. Of course, carnal didn’t always mean sexual.
He reached the doors and let go of the nurse who obediently stood aside while it seemed he was having a word with the guards. One moved forward to bar his way. “Excuse me sirs, if you please, my lady and I would like to…” He let his words hang, suddenly lashing out with one of the syringes the woman had given him the night before. One of the guards went down and his partner yelled in surprise, going for his firearm. No such weapons would work.
Damon snarled and grabbed the woman before the shock set in and she could run away. He ducked a heavy punch, pulling the other syringe free from his pocket. He twisted and plunged it into the other man’s neck brutally and flipped him to the floor. His hand came up and covered the nurse’s mouth just in time to catch a scream.
He pushed through the door, pausing only to wipe the guard’s memories for the few seconds they had witnessed before being knocked out. The woman he dragged into the ally that ran beside the hospital, hissing quietly at the sun that shone full bore on the back of his neck. Her struggles were feeble and quite ridiculous to him and he handled her easily inside the building. But after they got out into the sun, she just got troublesome. He pulled out the last remaining sedative and stabbed it into her neck, emptying the sinister cylinder and tucking it back into his jacket pocket with the others.
Of course, he wasn’t going to use them again, but he knew better than to leave evidence lying around in alleyways where the law could find them all too easily. He was no stranger to breaking rules, and was taking every precaution to not get caught this time. He headed south, the nurse’s considerable dead weight slung over his shoulder as he weaved through back alleys and inconspicuous walkways.
When he reached a relatively quiet, industrialised part of town, he entered one of the warehouses and shut the door behind himself. It wasn’t a randomly selected place. In fact, this warehouse belonged to him, part of his endeavour to take over this particular district. He took a few deep breaths to quell the churning in his stomach and the merciless pounding behind his eyes before moving to the centre of the vast room. He dropped the lifeless body on a platform made from stacked wood planks due to be sent overseas. There was no need for bindings, what he was going to do to her wouldn’t leave her much capacity to run away.
He lay her out almost reverently and rolled up his sleeves, a glacial smile accenting the chilly, bored, sleepy look that had settled over his beautiful face. She would know the meaning of pain.
His eyes glazed as she groaned softly and he reached out deceptively gentle fingers to stroke her cheek. A searing, seductive caress. She turned her head and looked up at him, a groggy smile coming over her face.
“Who… why…?” She muttered, her mind too lethargic from the drug to be able to form the correct questions to ask. This woman had been working for many years, who else had she hurt, who else would be hurt?
“Shhh…” The Sadist purred, the tips of his fingers brushing her lips like an enthralled lover. She quivered and he smiled. His hand trailed down her neck, slowly to the front of her shirt, flicking the buttons open with almost lazy, casual movements that told of past practise. Then again, what was he but a whore?
His eyes were a hard, unforgiving yellow and unquenchable rage roiled under his skin, but his touch was soft, seductive and scorching hot. He teased and toyed with her, disgusted and amused by her moans and her begging for release, which steadily grew more urgent as minutes, then hours passed by. She wanted, she needed, she was going to…
It was then that The Sadist broke the first bone. There was a satisfying snap and she screamed. And kept screaming.
***
Sadi indulged in a groan as he stretched, his stiff back muscles protesting the movement. He checked the time on his watch and swore viciously in Eyrien. He had indeed lost track of the time.
He looked down at the broken body of the woman before him and a cruel smile curved his lips. Ten hours of sweet, cold torture and the she was still alive... still whimpering.
Anyone who walked in at that moment would have been sickened by the scene before them. Damon himself was standing tall and relaxed, almost casual as if meeting friends at a dinner party. The woman’s blood stained the bottom of his shirt and the top of his pants.
The strange lump that sat on top of the wooden boards was indeed a woman by virtue of the whimpering and the tiny movements that suggested it breathed.
Damon had in fact very carefully and very slowly severed the nurse's feet, bandaging them up so she didn't bleed to death. Then he had effectively disintegrated the bones in what remained of her legs and her arms. Her hands were twisted backward.
Her entire body was bent at a strange angle, the spine having been twisted also in a full three hundred and sixty degree circle, done carefully and with great precision so as to not do too much damage to the spinal cord. Her face was crushed, features distorted as Damon had melted her skin...
He couldn’t leave her there. They would most certainly realise she was missing when she didn’t turn up for her shift. And, as much as he would have liked to, he couldn’t leave her alive. He sighed and brushed her hair away from her neck. Waste not… He thought as he darted in and plunged his fangs deep into her flesh.
His body vibrated with pleasure. It had been centuries since he had indulged in such a luxury and he drank deeply, revelling in the life that passed from her into him. Though he knew it was wrong, this nurse had paid for everything, not only Isabelle’s treatment, but also the loss she’d suffered, and for the helplessness he was forced to endure.
Draining her completely, until the last feeble twitches died underneath him, he stopped and straightened. He rolled down his sleeves and licked his lips clean before pulling the matches he carried from his trouser pocket. Lighting it, he threw it onto the body and watched the wood and flesh catch and begin to burn.
His expression now grim, he strode over to the door and picked up his jacket, shrugging it on over the top of his bloodstained shirt. The used syringes he pulled from his pocket and added them smoothly to the fire that was now spreading to the other remains of the wood exports. It didn’t matter anyway. Demolition teams were coming to tear this place down the next day, and by the time they found the body, there would be no evidence, nothing to build a case on.
He turned, the sight of the makeshift pyre seared into his mind, adding to the scars on his soul. It was time he got back home.
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Sadi Seyer
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"The Sadist didn't ask questions. He created them. And he left them unanswered." ~ Illizana Seyer
