Her Name

Pain.

There is nothing else in the room but pain. There is nothing else in my body except pain. For me, at this very moment in time, the whole world is pain.

I need to sleep but I am not permitted to shut my eyes. I need desperately to feed, but I am allowed nothing. I have been in this dank and foul smelling room for years. Or has it been months? Just days, maybe? Hours? It doesn't really matter; time means nothing to me anymore. My life has been reduced to this room, to this chair, to the silver chains that lash me in place and keep me locked in torment.

My head falls forward of its own accord; my chin hits my chest and my eyes, so heavy with exhaustion, close briefly. For a moment the pain subsides as I begin to lose consciousness and fall into the blessed daylight slumber I have been denied for so long. But then I feel someone take my hair and pull my head back hard.

I open my eyes and stare unseeing at the ceiling above me. I focus on the one dim light hanging there; a single, bare bulb on a chain. It swings slightly, back and forth, back and forth. The light is enough to illuminate the horrible patterns on the ceiling and on the walls and on the floor. The patterns are caused by blood - my blood, and the blood of others. Wild splatters and splashes and pools of red, all twist together to create a grisly masterpiece of torture; a macabre mosaic born of suffering. It's almost beautiful in a way, and the smell of it serves to drive my already terrible hunger into the realm of insanity.

I hear the door open, and feel a rush of cool air hit my face. I hear another voice, a female voice, but it does not belong to the one I long to see, and for that I am both relieved and unaccountably sad. She hasn't come to me for so long, and I need her. Her absence pains me, and also strengthens me. My conflict runs so deep.

I hear footfalls approaching and my head tips forward as I try to adjust my gaze. My vision is clouded by exhaustion and agony, but I can see a woman's face peering down at me. It's a beautiful face, but the mocking smile is anything but. The woman laughs.

"Did you guys do all this?" she asked, looking over my head to stare behind me. I heard a male voice answer, a voice I knew all too well. The one that liked the poker.

"Nah, not everything. But we got to do a lot. He's pretty dumb, even for a vamp. He won't talk."

The woman looked at me again, cocked her head to the side.

"What are you trying to get him to tell you?" she asked curiously. Too curiously.

"He's got some computer program," the male answered. "The vamp that hired us thinks he hid it with his human whore. He won't tell us who she is."

"It's a damn shame, too," said the other male voice, the younger one. "The vamp said we'd get a bonus if we got him to tell us."

"Really?" the woman asked, and I didn't like the way her eyes lit up. "You guys willing to split it with me if I get it out of him?"

The males laughed; they didn't think she was serious. But when she walked across the room to look at the equipment, they realized she meant every word, and the laughter turned to whistles and hoots of approval.

The woman picked up one item after another from the rack by the door. She tested the weight and feel of each in her hand, like she was trying to decide on a new article of clothing rather than choosing a device of torture. When she finally turned and started walking back toward me, I saw she had settled on the pincers.

"What's his name?" she asked, and they told her.

She smiled at me, leaned very close to my face. I could hear her heartbeat, could smell her scent. She pushed her dark hair back and stroked her neck. My fangs descended and my mouth opened wide with need. I knew the taunt for what it was, but I couldn't prevent my lips from pulling back with desire; couldn't stop my instincts from taking control of my exhausted and tortured body. Humiliated and debased, I strained to get to her, but she remained just out of reach. She winked at me.

I would remember her face.

"Bill," she said as she stood up. "If you tell these gentlemen what they want to know, I will let you have me." She reached down and stroked my leg, moving her hand on my thigh suggestively.

"You must be so hungry, baby," she purred. Then she put one foot on the chair between my legs. She touched her hand to her own inner thigh and let her leg fall open a bit. I stared at the spot where I knew her femoral artery was pulsing, just under her jeans. I shook with desperate need, and groaned a little through my parched lips.

The males were laughing again.

"You're a bitch, Debbie," the younger one said.

She grinned up at them, placed her foot back on the ground, and started to work on me. My hunger was lost again as my world returned to pain. Years passed. And then I heard the voice I had longed for, and dreaded.

"Did you get anything from him?" my maker asked as she came over to examine me.

"No, ma'am," answered the one that liked the poker. "He still won't say nothin'. We worked on him most of the day."

"Hmm. So I see," she answered softly, approvingly.

My maker knelt down in front of me, held my chin in her hand, forced me to look in her eyes. She was so beautiful. Why didn't she love me anymore? Why did I want her to love me? Why did I need her to? What magic did this she-demon have over me, so much stronger than a normal bond between maker and child. I didn't just have to obey her; I wanted to. Was this her immortal gift; the ability to make me want to please her so? Even now I desired her, even now I would give her anything she wanted, anything she asked.

Except one.

"Tell me her name!" she demanded, and I saw the knife again in her hand.

I readied myself for the cutting, welcomed it. Every slice served to give me solace now. It was my due penance for everything I had done wrong to her, the nameless one. I won't speak her name, won't even think it. But she is my love, and the only human in all my vampire existence that had ever truly loved me. I had betrayed her, I knew this. Every drop of my blood that hit the floor was a reminder of what I had done. I knew if I ever got out of this silver, out of this chair, out of this room, I would spend the rest of my eternity seeking her absolution.

"Her name!" my maker growled, and I felt the blade pierce my flesh again.

I closed my eyes and drifted. I pictured my love's long, soft hair framing her sleeping face as she cuddled against my shoulder, safe in my arms. She was so far away from me now. But I could still keep her safe.

I held my silence and, for a brief moment, I managed to smile.

-

To be continued