Warning this is a vampire story and strong scenes of erotic nature will appear. This is an alt. form of another story I've written and this version is, in my opinion, best and this will be 12 parts that are already completely written. Join my yahoo group for faster updates on this story as well as all of my others. The link:
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by Maddy A. and edited by Nicole M.
"ICE BLUE GOTHIC"
PART THREE
Roads Less Traveled
Damien walked down the hallway leading away from Rip's bedroom and he could feel relief coursing throughout his body the further away from it he got. The hallway was dark, almost too dark with hints of iridescent blue bouncing off of the dark paint on the walls. He could barely see his feet in front of him. He thought it must have been deep into the night and the thought that he' d missed work almost made him cry out his frustrations with a grunted sigh. Even if he would have only made a few dollars, he still needed every penny he could make because when you`re damn near broke, every penny counts. The hallway was long and narrow with no doors except for the one at the end that lead to Rip's bedroom. There was silence as he walked and only the sounds heard were of his sneakers scuffing along the rich, dark carpet and his heavy shortened breaths. What crept him out was the lack of windows because there was nothing to remind him of the world outside. After what felt like ten minutes too long, he finally found a turn for steps for him to go down.
Just like the upstairs, the downstairs was dimmed too dark to see things to clearly. A few lit candles were scattered around giving the darkness of the room a hint of golden lights being consumed by the shadows. He could feel a chill run down his spine as he watched the gentle flame flicker and sway as if it was dancing to an unseen beat. Like a quick relief, his eyes fell upon the front door. His exit to freedom and out of that house with all of the
weird people was only steps away. He almost let himself smile with joy once he reached it, but then he felt a cold gust of wind blow past him making his skin tingle and the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Goosebumps prickled down his neck as a cold touch was placed upon his hand as if it was the devil himself trying to take him into a deathly embrace. Damien's head was spinning and his breaths shortened as he turned around with anticipation. The loud and thumping sound of his heartbeat pounding inside of his chest, rang inside of his ears. The sound almost clouding his vision with its intensity. There, in front of him stood a man with a wicked grin on a pale, white face. White face framed with dark hair that ended it little flips of curls touching the bottom of his neck as cold steel blue eyes peered at him. The man's wicked smile left as much to the imagination as his tight white sleeveless t-shirt and snug light blue jeans did.
"Hello Sweetheart. You're the one that came home with Rip." The man stated in his deep, scratchy voice as he continued to hold onto Damien's hand. His voice was deep, scratchy as if he liked to drink alcohol a little more than he should. Damien was taken aback by the mysterious man's forwardness. He'd never been so brazenly approached by another man and for the second time within minutes, he was being misappropriated.
"I'm not his friend and I'm gonna be leaving now." Damien stated as he snatched his hand away. He made a move to open the door, but the man stepped in front of him, blocking his way.
"Don't you wanna know my name?" The guy asked with a smirk as he brought his hand upwards and brushed his hair away from his face.
"No, I want you to get the fuck out of my way!" Damien yelled.
"Brendan...call me Brendan." The man stated , continuing his dangerous smirk. He leaned in closer as if he was going trying to kiss him. Damien jumped back in surprise trying to decide if it would be wise to punch Brendan in the face or just push past him and leave.
"Okay Brendan? Nice to meet you, now would you mind getting out of my way?"
Damien sighed in exasperation. He looked down at his watch to see the time, but for some odd reason his watch was stopped at 1:51. He didn't know if that was p.m. or a.m., but judging by the dimness of the house he thought it had to be the latter. Trying to deflect from the weirdness of the situation he was in, Damien took his watch off and put it in his black, wool coat pocket. Brendan tilted his head and eyed Damien up and down, pleased by what he saw. A thick, sturdy body with broad shoulders, skin like warm coffee, not too much muscle where it was overwhelming, but just enough where it suited Damien. He was tall, but not that tall, maybe five-foot-nine, only and inch taller than he was. Yes, Brendan liked what he saw and he would have to remember to tell Rip that. Brendan flashed a white smile again and without another word, stepped aside with a mock bow to let Damien pass. Damien didn't even bother looking at him as he opened the door.
Instantly, he was blinded by the bright winter's sun of February in his eyes. He muttered "What the fuck...' to himself in surprise. From the darkness of the house, he had assumed it was only moments after midnight . He turned back around thinking he would see Brendan, but all he saw was the empty entrance way, dust speckles floating in the air and no sign that life had just been there seconds earlier. He let a shiver run down his back as he crunched his white sneakers into the snow and buried his hands deep down in his pockets. Everything about the inside of that house was creepy, but the outside was worst. Tall, dried out dead trees loomed over him as their ash colored limbs stretched up high into the sky. In Damien's mind it looked like the branches were trying to escape from a force that he couldn`t see. The walk to the front gate felt like forever and when he finally reached the tall iron wrought fence, it opened with an eerie, shrill sound that reminded Damien of cats crying. Before he started his journey down the lonely stretch of deserted road, something inside of told him to glance back at the house. In one of the bedrooms, he thought he saw the figure of a man in black looking at him, but when he peered a little closer all he saw was a curtain closing. He couldn' t shake off the chills that danced up his spine.
Jessica wasn't home when Damien arrived to the small, double wide trailer they shared. The kids weren't there either and he knew that Jessica had probably never picked them up from the night before. His shift at the gas station was suppose to start at seven a.m., but he was close friends with his boss Jennifer, so he knew that she wouldn't mind him coming in a few hours late. Her daughter was six and she was raising her own her own, so she was more understanding to certain matters. She'd had her fair share of hard times too, so she would cut Damien a little extra slack here and there, even giving him a little extra money in his pay-check when she could.
He looked at the filthy two room trailer and somewhere in the back of his mind, a little voice lurking inside of the dark place that we all have was urging him to just torch the place. He could turn the gas on the stove on high, wait a few moments as he would pack the things that he wanted to take with him and then just let the place burn in flames with a tossed away match. Oh, how sweet that would be, but how stupid he knew the idea was. He knew that he would forgive her, he always did. He was weak in some ways especially when it came to matters of the heart. When his mother was alive she used to tell
him that his greatest strength was his ability to love, but his greatest weakness was his giving away his heart. A battle whose winner could never truly be defined.
The day was long, as usual. Jennifer had let him stay on for two shifts and he didn't get off until after eleven that night. He knew Jessica was there, at their dirty trailer, waiting with nothing on and ready to fuck him....for once. He didn't need her shit. His head had been so twisted and fucked up the whole day with his strange night and wake-up, that the only thing he wanted to do was find the smallest, darkest bar and drink himself into a stupor and hopefully pass out in the street so he could forget about everything for a few hours.
He was at his favorite place, Blackman's Tavern. Nobody bothered him there and he was able to drink in peace with the solitude of his thoughts. He took a sip of brandy and stared down at the dark liquid filled to the brim of his glass. The color reminded him of the color of the rugs in Rip's house. Damien found himself thinking about Rip, his eyes mainly. They were a weird shade of blue, one that he'd never seen before or at least never stopped to notice if they were on someone else. He thought about how perfectly compact Rip' s body was. It was perfect in size and in proportion. Slender shoulders, tapered waist and legs that were just small enough to turn Damien on. When he realized where his thoughts were leading him, he quickly downed the rest of his drink hoping that the burning in his throat would knock some sense into him. He wondered what was wrong with him because never in his life, with the exception of that one time in high school, had he thought of another man in a way that was even remotely sexual yet, there he was, closing his eyes and picturing Rip's slender, pale white face.
Damien was walking home because Jessica still had the car. He wasn't drunk, but just tipsy enough where the ground below him was slightly out of focus in a white blur of snow. He thought he heard someone whisper out his name in a deep sigh of `Damien'. The streets were desolate with the closed shops down Main Street locked up and any traces of people long gone. He stopped mid-step, turned around and when he saw no one, he continued walking. He felt like something was calling out to him, luring him in with a deep whisper of his name, but each time he turned around just to see nothing, but soft flakes of snow falling down, he would tell himself that he was losing his mind. There was no movement on the streets except for him, but again, he heard someone whisper out his name again only instead of behind him, it was in front of him.
Like a lamb being brought to slaughter, he followed the path of the ambiguous whisper. Slow and steadied steps he took down the roads of southern New Jersey farmland in the cold of a snowy winter's night.
He felt as if he crazy, following an anonymous voice down roads he couldn't even remember ever driving down, let alone walking. The coldness of the night was turning the tips of his brown ears redden and he pulled his coat tighter and closer to his body as he tucked his white scarf around his neck. Somewhere behind him, headlights from a car shined down on him. It was a sleek Italian made sports car that in the dark of night looked to be dark blue or black. The windows were tinted black so even if he tired, Damien couldn't see who the driver was. The car drove up and came to a slow stop across the road from him. Without saying a word, the driver pushed open the passengers door with a slow creak echoing against the quiet of the empty road. Damien peered into the deep darkness of the car, but all he was able to make out was a pale wrist with dark bluish almost black tattooed hollowed cross, gothic in its designs, inked along the pulse point, resting against the steering wheel as
tapping fingers waiting patiently for him to get in. It was as if Damien was lost under a spell. That was the only explanation he could come up with as he climbed into the cold leather of the car and shut the door behind him creating a still silence rival to the falling snow....
TBC
(c) Madison Dante 2005
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