Lillian stood on the sidewalk unable to move. The small cottage taunted her from a few yards away.  Her father, hiding in this small house?  Her father hiding at all? Absurd.

The images of Mae imprinted in her mind sprang forth and reasserted the urgency she’d abandoned for that brief moment.  Without further delay she rushed up to the door, pounding on it with every bit of urgency she could manage.

The loud echoing clunk of the deadbolt reverberated far deeper than the small wooden door of the cottage called for. With one blink the door became immense. Heavy, deeply stained oak with intricate carvings.

Her heart stopped as the image of the small building was replaced with a sprawling home. Window upon window reflected the bright sun that she swore was a full moon just moments before.

“What’s the rush, toots?”  Bent over a walker, a bone-thin old man gave her a wicked smirk. “Ain’t no one here running anywhere.”

“What?” Lillian turned, eyeing every person on the now sprawling lawn around her. Each and every one of them was elderly, ranging from her dad’s age of fifty to some that looked nearer to death than life. “What the hell?”

“I’m surprised you managed to find me.” The warmth in her father’s tone was unfamiliar, unwelcome.

“What have you done?! Do you have any idea what’s happened?” Lillian spun, ready to attack.

He smirked from his wheelchair when she froze in place. “You’ve forgotten what’s real haven’t you?”

“Real? I haven’t forgotten anything.” Even as she said the words, she felt the doubt creeping up. Somehow his words nagged at her. No, it was treachery. Right now Mae was in trouble and he was the only one that could help.  “No! Stop trying to trick me, Dad. Mae’s in trouble. We have to help her.”

“Mae?”

“Yes, Mae. You know, your daughter!”

“Lil. You are my daughter.”

“And so is Mae! God, dad. Now isn’t the time-“

“No, Lillian. You are my only daughter.”

His utter calm was upsetting her more than anything that had happened. “No. Mae. My sister-“

“You do not have a sister. Or a brother. You were an only child.”

“No.”

“I’d hoped this wouldn’t happen.” His hand grasped hers, the grip strong. “I feared the worst after the accident.”

“Accident. What accident?”  The world around her started to go dark. This wasn’t happening.  She had to get away. She had to save Mae.

“You can’t force your delusion on me. I have more control than you do, young lady. Always have, always will. Stop trying to escape back into it. You’ll remain here and you’ll stay focused.”

“You’re the reason this is happening! Rutherford, he told me it was one of your sick games.” Fear started to close off her throat, and she looked down at her hand. The one that still clutched the case she’d taken from the limo. The case that had led her here.

“It’s unfortunate what happened. Rutherford was supposed to break through before things went too far. Unfortunately, you didn’t let him and a good scientist was lost. One that had started to make sense of what this is.”

Lillian’s eyes closed, “I don’t understand.”

“None of it was real – well, it was for as long as you were in the delusion.”

Nothing made sense. Everything that had happened couldn’t have been a delusion. It was real. She’d felt it, seen it, everything that had happened.  “Mae…”

“You always did want a sister.”

“I don’t understand.” Now she was whining. Part of her desperate to get away, to save Mae. Somehow, part of her was willing her to stay where she was. Maybe the torment could end.

“Sometimes I don’t either. I do think this is my fault in a way. It appears to be a genetic flaw that we both have. I had just told you about it before the accident. You must have latched onto that and used it to create your new world. First, by running away – and when that got too boring, you decided to add some excitement.”

“Wait. What accident?”

“The plane crash. Don’t you remember? That’s when it all started for you.”

“Plane crash?”

“It’s why you’ve become afraid to fly.” Her father leaned forward, meeting her eyes.  “Lillian. You have the power to change reality, just by thinking it. We both do.”

“That’s ridiculous.  I was just…”

A slow smile creased the corners of his eyes, a twinkle sparkling out from the green depths. “What were you doing, Lillian?”

“Chasing vampires.” Her lower lip started to push out and she sank into a nearby bench.  “None of it was real?”

“It was real enough. For at least a few days.”  He squeezed her hand, “Think back, Lil. What happened when I got back from the Gulf?”

“You left us.”

“I experienced some trauma over there. It took almost ten years for me to figure out how to control it, and another five to find someone I trusted to study what it was and how it happened. By the time I had control enough to be around you without putting you in danger, you wanted nothing to do with me. Remember?”

Bit by bit the memories started to surface. The argument she’d had with him. The one that she told him she wanted nothing to do with him. Two years later she’d gotten on the puddle jumper for a short flight. A mechanical error.

“Lil.”

“I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

“You will.”

“But…Rutherford.”

“An unfortunate accident. Trust me, if anyone understood the risk, it was him. He’s been watching over you for a while, and thought he could manage to get to you safely.”

Lillian lifted her eyes, searching for any sign of deception. “Am I insane?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“No more than I am.”

“Not comforting.”

“I know.”

She shook her head, “What about all those people? Damien, Mae-“

“Damien and Mae were not really real. They will fade back into your imagination with everything else that didn’t come from something solid.”

“Like Rutherford.”

“Yes. Like Rutherford.”

“What now?”

“You have to trust me for a change. Let me help you.”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” His laughter made her smile, despite the fears and doubts still clinging to her.  She stood and moved behind his chair, looking back at the case she’d left on the ground.  It faded before her eyes.

“Now that you’ve found me, there’s no need for that, is there?”

“I suppose not.” With a shrug, she pushed him back to the building. “Where to?”

“Just down the hall, to the right.”

Right after they turned the corner, she tensed. Something wasn’t right. Before she could react, two orderlies rushed out from a nearby room and grabbed her.  “Dad?”

“I’m sorry, Lillian.” Her father stood up from the wheelchair and walked over, pulling the cap off of a syringe. “You shouldn’t have come back. Trust me, it’s better this way.”

“No!” Lillian struggled against the orderlies, a small cry escaping when the syringe pierced her flesh. Her muscle burned as the medicine hit it, and slowly her fight grew weaker. “Dad…”

“Colonel?” Rutherford stepped from the room, a pristine white lab coat covering his sturdy frame. “Will she be any more trouble?”

“Ruth-,” her tongue felt swollen. She couldn’t complete the words.  Gray seeped into her vision, their voices started to muffle in her ears. Sounding far away.

“Not at all. I’m disappointed that you let her escape, Dr. I trust it won’t happen again. She’s far too valuable to our mission. We need her compliant.”

“It won’t happen again. I’ll kill her before I let her escape without completing her training.” Rutherford’s face hovered near hers, his wicked smile the last thing she saw before her eyes shut. Barely a whisper in her ears, his last sentence sent a chill through her numbing body, “She’s becoming easier to manipulate. This time she really believed you were her father.”

Lillian threw the note down in disgust. Obviously male chauvinism extended to vampires, and Damien’s certainty of his “seeding” shook off any remaining effects of his seductions.

She plopped down on the bed to think, clutching the rifle tightly like it was a lifeline. She realized with a wry smile that it really was her life line. The last remaining bullet and the gun were the only things she had that could possibly pull her out of this mess, only her delivery of the items was no longer in the form of a package. No, it had to be delivered with the same sniper-precision that had killed Rutherford and his driver.

Rutherford. Her heart skipped a beat, as she remembered their last moments together and his blood she’d only a just recently wiped from her hands. He had tried to save her, and instead she was in a worse place than ever before.

She then remembered his briefcase and once again wondered why he had been so insistent that she take it. Perhaps it contained something that would give her some direction. She hoped it did, at least.

Reaching for a robe that had fallen to the floor from the bed, she wrapped her naked body tightly as she went to find the briefcase. She had to find out. It was all she had at this point.

Picking it up, she stared at the offending combination lock. She felt she knew Rutherford well, but she doubted anyone really knew him well enough to know what he’d use as any password or combination. He kept a lot of his life private, and she couldn’t begin to fathom the secrets he took with him in his death.

Somehow, though, in his dying breaths he seemed to think she could figure it out. His birthday was too obvious. As was hers, for that matter.

“Maybe I should just shoot it open,” she said to herself. However, she figured another gunshot from the apartment would raise any eyebrows that had let the last one go un-investigated. Plus, she didn’t dare chance destroying whatever was inside, assuming it wasn’t bullet proof.

“Think, Lillian. THINK,” she chanted to herself. She could almost feel her sister being pulled from her life as the wall clock’s second hand clicked loudly in the quiet apartment.

Life had been so much simpler only a few days before. Alabama could have been on another continent at this point, and she knew already that there would be no fully going back to life as it was.

Alabama. As if watching a movie, scenes from her one night of passion with Rutherford right after she’d moved to start her new life flashed before her mind’s eye. It was the only night they’d ever spent together from beginning to end. She had cooked them dinner, away from any prying eyes of her new town. Instead of dessert, they’d made slow, gentle love, and she drifted into a peaceful, deep slumber wrapped in his arms.

“Promise me you will never forget this date,” he had whispered in her ear as he left. “It’s important. Never forget.”

And she hadn’t. May 23rd. The day had started with the most gorgeous sunrise. The rays of sun beckoned him from her bed. It ended with a steady rainfall.

She always felt that day had mimicked her mood. She’d spent most of it on a high from the night before, but as night fell, she too fell into a deep sadness. She had no idea when/if she’d see Rutherford again. She certainly didn’t know then that the next time would be the last time.

She moved the combination to 5-2-3. It was a long shot, she knew, but it was all she could think of trying. Licking her lips and holding her breath, she pushed on the latch. She was shocked when it clicked open smoothly. She didn’t know if she should laugh or cry in that moment. It had been a long-shot, but it worked. Rutherford had given her the answer so long ago, in another life and in a happier time.

As she opened the briefcase and shuffled through the papers inside, her eyes grew wide. Scribbled on a sheet of paper was a familiar name, with an address and phone number. It was the key that would unlock this whole mess.

She had found her father.

“Damien, my sister, please release her.”

“I will. But I want you in exchange.”

At that very moment, after how he made her feel over the last couple hours, that wouldn’t be an issue. To trade herself for her sister was a no-brainer on so many levels.

“Fine.”

Damien got up and walked toward, what she assumed was the bathroom. His body was that of an Adonis. She felt a stirring again and wondered if he had some sort of sexual hold over her now, because she wanted him again.

She heard him laughing lightly from the bathroom, “Not any more tonight, Lillian. I have some other things to do. Besides, I have to go and release your sister.”

“Just like that? You’re going to release her, just like that?”

“Well, yes. This is what this was all about Lillian. I wanted you and the only way you would come to me willingly was if I took something precious from you.”

Lillian’s whole body started shaking with anger.

She heard the shower turn on and Damien whistling.

She jumped from the bed and ran out to the kitchen where she had left the gun.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, darling.” Damien called out to her from the shower. “How do you expect to find where Mae is if you do to me what you did to Rosie?”

“UGH.” Lillian walked out into the living room and slumped, naked, onto the couch. Damien was right, if she killed him she’d have so many more steps to take before finding her sister, if she ever was able to find her.

This was the easiest. The surest. Her in exchange for her sister. A promise is a promise.

She picked up the bag that the gun had been in and felt around. There had to be more of a clue, this was no ordinary gun. It was, obviously, some sort of vampire killer.

In the bag, she found a small zippered pocket she had never seen before.

She carefully unzipped it and pulled out a small piece of paper. The tiny note read:

The bullets hold verbane powder. A strong herb that kills vampires. There are only 4 bullets. Use cautiously.

The note wasn’t signed and the writing was as tiny as the paper it was penned upon.

Vampire killing bullets, eh?

He was still whistling in the shower cheerfully. Apparently, great sex makes even vampires in a good mood. Interesting, Lillian thought.

Still holding the gun, she walked toward the bedroom.

All she would have to do, if Damien were dead, was find Trinidad. And really, that shouldn’t be too difficult once she located McLovin. A couple of days tops. And with Damien gone, her sister would probably be safe until she could locate her.

It is a shame though, to get rid of Damien. He was so good in bed. But, sex partners were a dime a dozen and when there wasn’t another body, there was always her Pink Rabbit.

She pointed the gun toward the shower and shot. Noticing the spicy smell of the bullets. The verbane.

She fired one more bullet into the shower before pulling back the curtain.

He was gone.

She ran into the bedroom and there was no sign of him.

On the pillow, she noticed a piece of paper. She grabbed it and began to read:

Lillian,

I will not take offense to the fact that you wanted to kill me. I completely understand.

I am honoring our deal and will release your sister. However, you will, most likely, never see her again. Trust me, she will be fine and with some counseling will be as good as new.

Lillian, just know everything I do is for you. You are the soul I have been without for centuries. But realize that now, you can never part from me because tonight, during our hours of lovemaking, my seed was planted and is now secure within your womb.

I will see you soon.

With all my love,
Damien

There was only one bullet left.

Lillian watched the crimson blood as it created a thick pool on the stark white tiles of the kitchen floor. The contrast of the two colors, as well as the growing puddle of red liquid, held her transfixed.

There was so much blood, it just kept flowing from what seemed like everywhere. Even Rutherford didn’t bleed this much and he got shot in the throat, which is kind of the same thing as being shot in the head.

She couldn’t pull her gaze away from Rosie and all the gore.

In horror, she watched as the body began to wither and turn to dust.

What the FUCK was going on here?

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Lillian tried to rationalize that she was, most likely, in shock. That must be why she was seeing crazy things like unending amounts of blood and rapidly decomposing bodies.

What she didn’t understand was why she shot Rosie. It hadn’t been in her control, she hadn’t even felt like herself. It was as if she had lost all influence of her senses, someone else was in her mental drivers seat. She looked at the gun, still warm from use.

She was not a murderer. Hell, she avoided stepping on ants whenever possible.

But what was this thing that she killed, which was now nothing more than a large pile of an ashy looking substance? There was nothing that was even remotely identical to human. Even the blood had turned black and dried up into ash.

She looked around the tiny apartment expectantly, her mouth forcing a cheerful smile in anticipation for a camera crew to pop out of a closet to announce that she’d been Punk’d.

This was too strange to be real.

Shit like this only happened on T.V or in books.

Lillian needed a drink. Badly. With a glass of wine to calm her, perhaps she could figure out what was happening and plan her next move.

Carefully stepping over what remained of Rosie, Lillian opened the fridge to inspect the contents.

“Of course.” She said out loud to herself sarcastically, “Why wouldn’t Rosie have anything but pints of blood in here?”

“Toss me a bag of that, won’t you?” a deep, male voice called out to her from the other room.

That voice, she had heard it before.

Damien.

She wheeled around and found herself nose to nose with the monster.

He smiled, his teeth so white they seemed to glow “Excuse me dear.” He reached around her and grabbed a pint of blood, puncturing it with a sharp incisor and began to drink the way a child would from a juice pouch, the whole time, keeping his eyes on Lillian.

Vampires! But yet, why did she not seem as shocked as she knew she should feel? It was though a part of her knew this whole time.

Lillian was frozen in place, her arms and legs felt like stone, so heavy and making it impossible to try to run.

When Damien was done drinking, he dabbed the sides of his mouth with a kerchief and looked her up and down, licking his lips seductively. Everything he did was seductive and alluring, his looks, his voice. Everything about him was trying to get her to want him.

“So, you killed our Rosie, eh?” He raised one eyebrow as he gazed at her lecherously. “It’s a shame really, she was so useful and such a willing fuck.”

He moved closer to Lillian, his eyes looking deeply into hers. She could feel him in her head, whispering, laughing seductively.

Between her legs betrayed her, he was so powerful. So sexual.

She was ready for him already.

“You’ll have to do. Again.” With one hand, he gently touched her breast as he licked along her carotid artery.

“Don’t you remember, Lillian?” he whispered into her ear, catching her lobe and sucking on it.

“Remember what?” she was lost in the sensation of his thumb rubbing her nipple erect.

“Am I not at all familiar to you? We are not strangers in any sense of the word.”

She opened her eyes, trying to gain control over her body and her mind.

He just felt so good as her hand ran over his stiffness that was causing the front of his pants to tighten.

His whispers in her mind were drowning out her own internal voices of rationale.

Primitively, her body took over and she submitted to the sensations, the ecstasy of his hands and mouth on her body.

Damien picked Lillian up and carried her to the bedroom. He ripped her clothes off and ravaged her, her cries of passion were louder than any gunshot.

He may be a horrendous, blood-sucking monster who kidnapped her sister but Damien was the most tender, giving lover she ever had. She couldn’t get enough of his touches and licks. Her body arched as she rode each wave.

What seemed like many intense hours later, Damien moaned and shuddered, which brought her to climax again.

He collapsed on top of her and she felt him suckling on her neck.

She pushed him away and he laughed good-naturedly.

“Do you remember me now?” he looked at her, one eyebrow cocked again.

She did but she didn’t want to admit it. She remembered everything about the first time she met Damien a few months back. The bar, the drinks he bought her, how incredible the sex was. Just like it was again tonight.

He just smiled triumphantly. He was in her mind, she didn’t have to say a word.

Something in Rosie’s voice made Lillian stop. Things were moving too fast and Lillian felt she needed to slow things down for a minute and collect her thoughts.

“What did you say? Everyday what?” Lillian stared hard at Rosie waiting for a response.

Rosie’s eyes squinted and her face tightened up. “You know, I’m more than just a Cheesehead,” Rosie responded shrugging her shoulders as she reached over to flick her cigarette into the ashtray on the end table.

“Right, that’s what I…” Lillian’s voice trailed off and she didn’t finish her sentence as she began looking more intently at the 30-30 Winchester rifle. Lillian felt herself getting flush and her hands were getting moist with perspiration. Lillian’s mind began to race with thoughts of her father, of Damien and this whole mess. Lillian saw her dearest Rutherford again, lying there and struggling for breath. “I love you too,” he had said as he winked and then closed his eyes forever.

“Everything okay? You want to hear my plan?” said Rosie, waking Lillian up from her trance.

Lillian’s head slowly turned and her gaze met that of her new “friend.”

“I’m fine,” Lillian said as she slowly exhaled. “Can I have a glass of water or something?” she asked Rosie.

“Sure, I’ll…” Rosie said as she started to rise off the couch.

“No, I’ll get it. Just tell me where.” Lillian snapped as Rosie wasn’t even fully up off the couch yet.

Lillian collected herself and said, “I’ll get it thanks.” Rosie eased back into the couch and buried her cigarette in the ashtray.

“Something’s wrong,” Rosie whispered to herself.

Lillian walked back into the living room striding confidently and looking more secure than at any time Rosie had seen her. Lillian went over to the package and pulled out the shotgun. She held up the gun and stroked the barrel smiling. “Hey be careful with that Lillian,” Rosie chirped.

Lillian still smiling and running her hands over the smooth barrel said, “What the fuck is a cheesehead?” before expertly flipping the gun into a shooting stance and leveling it right at Rosie.

Rosie’s last thoughts were drowned out by the earsplitting sound of the shotgun going off.

“You were just trying too damn hard, bitch.” Lillian said before tossing the shotgun onto Rosie’s dead body.

Rosie couldn’t believe it. All the blood, and the gore, and the edge-of-my-seat terror for this?

Lillian lifted the latch on the box she’d been carting around for what seemed like multiple eons. The one that had, presumably, caused Rutherford’s death in the limo; the package that, apparently, held the key to her sister, Mae’s, life; the reason, really, that Lillian was facing Rosie right now. Lillian had grown to think of the bulky box as her burden–and her release–plain and simple.

Both young women looked down at the heavy metal contraption lodged in Lillian’s lap. The top came off, and their eyes bulged out.

A .30-.30 Winchester Model Lever-Action Rifle gleamed in the dimming light. Cleaned and broken down, nestled down deep in the container, its 24-inch barrel and other parts wrapped in hot-pink tissue paper. The neatly enveloped contents mirrored a gift one would pick up at the Vicky’s Secret out at Tyson’s Corner Center.

Older than the .30-.30 that macho Teddy Roosevelt had used to bag his antelope at the turn of the last century. Probably manufactured it the ’20s. Like the one Uncle Lewie tracked down his deer with up in Wisconsin’s North Woods. The same model that her dad had unloaded and propped up in the dark corner of the mud-room closet, back in Chippewa Falls, after her little brother had bought the farm in that hunting accident.

The expression on Lillian’s face put Rosie in mind of an old Wisconsin cliché . The petite young woman definitely resembled a “deer in the headlights.”

“What the f…” Lillian gasped, almost choking on her own outrage.

“Looks like a gun from back home,” Rosie offered. “My Uncle Lewie had one. We hunt.”

She thought of the moth-eaten bucks hanging on the wall of The Tune Inn, just down the street. Hell, they even had a fuzzy deer butt mounted in that dive. But all of this was so far away from Wisconsin–from Grandpa Olsen’s dairy farm and Jake Leinenkugel’s hometown brewery.

Lillian pulled the slender, almost feminine, rifle barrel out of its girly packaging. Rosie figured the weapon must be a collector’s item. You couldn’t find hunting rifles of this age at Wal-Mart or Dick’s Sporting Goods.

“But I don’t understand,” Lillian said, reaching for the solid stock of the repeating rifle. An efficient tool for bagging everything in the forest, from Bambi to Baloo. “What does this beat-up old gun have to do with me? With my sister?”

Rosie squinched up her Norwegian ski-slope nose. Wrinkled her Nordic blue eyes. She had a thought, but was almost afraid to volunteer.

“I’m thinking you need to explain some of this to me,” Rosie said. “I’m willing to help, but I need to know your situation, first.”

“I’d love to tell you,” Lillian confided. “But I’m worried that they might have followed us here. I’m afraid I’m putting you in danger. I need a place to hide. Accessible to you, if you’re not too terrified. Somewhere near here, so I can think about what to do about Mae and her situation.”

Rosie pulled another ciggie from her battered pack, lit the end with a Bic-fueled flourish. “I actually do have an idea.”

Rosie recalled a conversation she’d had a while back with Dar in the back booth at the Tune. Where the dueling smells of a greasy kitchen and the dank, poorly ventilated bathrooms competed for a customer’s attention.

Dar was even more of a Tune Inn regular than Rosie. She could remember back to the old days, when the old owner, Tony, would pull out a shotgun from behind the bar when he thought a client was acting too out of line.

Tony’s “Pops,” Joe, had bought The Tune Inn from the original owner in the mid-’50s. The Tune, in its present incarnation, had been “founded” just after the war, 10 years before.

But the crumbling brick façade was decades, if not centuries, older than WW2. And Rosie knew for a fact that the Tune had been a speakeasy during Prohibition days, complete with a “secret room” to hold the primo hootch.

In fact, the new owner, Tony’s daughter Lisa, had shown Dar the hidden cubby between the back wall of the bar and the Exxon station next door. Rumor had it that Al Capone used to hold court back there. And even if it weren’t true, the tale of Capone’s cigar-perfumed poker marathons sure did make a good story.

Lillian caught the glint in Rosie’s eye. A combination of trepidation and lust for the hunt.

“What do you propose?” Lillian wanted to trust her new “friend,” such as she was. But she’d been burned an awful lot of times, hadn’t she?

“Follow me,” Rosie urged. “I’m more than an everyday Cheesehead, you betcha!”

The darkness always came abruptly after the third portion of stale bread and flavorless broth, and Mae was starting to appreciate the nothingness. After her encounter with the video camera and the two sadistic men, Mae’s emotional strength was sapped. She was no longer sure that she’d survive this ordeal, and so the stillness of the ink-black basement was welcome. The only way that Mae had learned to sleep at this point was to prop herself up in a corner, holding herself and thinking of the memories she shared with her sister and best friend, Lillian. At least now she could wrap herself into a blanket and mentally recreate the warmer memories of summertime Girl Scout camps, weekends spent at the beach house and, her favorite, their annual trip to the county fair. Her heart was momentarily soothed thinking of Lillian and she would drift into a fitful sleep.

When she heard the thud of the bolt on the steel door, she was jarred awake. Her daily bread & water delivery man had brought a pathetic form of breakfast to her, though as he stepped into the room, something felt different to Mae. Instead of setting the bread and broth right near the door, the man walked toward her with it. Mae jumped up from the floor, thankful for the blanket wrapped around her otherwise nude figure; she was ready to fight back if he came at her today, a less fitful sleep renewed her down-troddened spirit.

“It’s alright, I’m not going to touch you,” the man said, meeting Mae’s eyes. He could tell she didn’t believe him and so he stopped his advance and sat down on the floor. “Sit,” he told her.

Mae sat. Even with a strengthened spirit, she knew not to cross the men involved in her hostage situation. Was this even a hostage situation? Was anyone coming for her? Did anyone even know she was hidden away? She folded her toned yet pale legs under her and kept the blanket pulled tight to her skin. “Did they send you here?” she asked the man quietly.

“No. They don’t know. I’m here early today,” the man said, pushing the bread and bowl of soup nearer to Mae. “Eat, the broth gets cold quickly.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Mae snapped. She blushed and turned her face upward at the man. “I’m sorry, this is just fucked up. I’m thrown in a cold basement, given bread and water, raped on camera and the next day you want to sit and talk with me?” Having human contact after 11 days gave Mae little hope, and her cynicism toward the man was clear.

The man looked into Mae’s eyes and with honesty, offered her his words. “I’m sorry that you’re here. I didn’t know this was the plan. I was brought on to drive the car and use the two-way radio, then suddenly I’m bringing stale bread and watery broth to a naked woman in a basement. I wouldn’t have gotten involved had I known this was the plan. I’m sorry.”

Mae heard his words but pretended that she was absorbed by her paltry meal. “Hrmph,” was the only response she gave.

“I brought you these,” the man said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small piece of fabric. He set them near Mae’s bowl and she scrutinized the object. “I hope they fit. I guessed on the size and I’ve never been married so I really don’t know how to do it. I can get more if they work for you”

Upon further investigation, Mae then realized that the man had brought her a pair of panties to wear; they weren’t fancy but they were near enough to her size to provide some modesty. She stuttered a thank you and pulled them nearer to her, trying very hard not to cry.

The man sat awkwardly for a few minutes more while Mae ate; Mae was suddenly thankful to have the company, even if the man was involved in this torture. Once finished, she pulled the tags from the simple black underwear, put them in the bowl and pushed it back toward the man. He took his cue and the bowl and stood to leave.

When he got to the door, he turned, pausing and looking with calm eyes at Mae. Before she could properly thank him, he spoke a simple sentence; “Be strong, Lillian is on her way.”

They walked down the street until they came upon some modest red and brown row houses with wrought-iron flower boxes hung under the windows. Lillian didn’t pull the gun from Rosie’s side until they took the five steps down from the sidewalk and entered the basement apartment. Darting her eyes around the living room, Lillian asked, “Are we alone?”

Rosie replied, “Yeah…I live by myself,” immediately having regrets about not implying that a roommate might be walking in at any moment.

“Good,” Lillian sighed with relief as she relaxed a bit and dropped the gun to her side. Keeping her eyes on Rosie, she gave her a little more personal space as she backed up towards the closed door, putting her bag and Rutherford’s case on the floor in the corner. “I need a change of clothes,” she declared.

“Oh, uh, right,” Rosie replied, sizing up, for the first time, this wisp of a girl who was deceivingly more powerful than her tiny physique might imply at first glance. “I’ll go find something.” She turned and walked toward the bedroom door.

“WAIT,” Lillian growled, “I’m coming with you.” The last thing she needed was to make the mistake of trusting this complete stranger; if she had learned anything over the past few years, it was that nobody outside of her tight inner circle could be trusted. The problem was that her inner circle, made up of Mae and Rutherford, was getting smaller by the moment and frankly, she needed some help. She desperately hoped that Rosie, who she pulled into the drama only because she had been in the wrong place at the right time, would be a help rather than a hindrance.

Rosie pulled out a cigarette and lit it as she strode into her bedroom, Lillian hot on her heels. “I hope you don’t mind the smoke…I mean, it’s my place after all.” She drew in deeply, holding the smoke in her lungs for a moment, and then exhaled. She took the lack of protest—or any response whatsoever—as permission given, and she dug into her closet to find something that Lillian might be able to wear. After pulling out a pair of blue jeggings and the camel-colored Ann Taylor mock turtleneck she originally thought would be a great addition to her basic wardrobe but later decided wasn’t her color, she tossed both pieces to Lillian.

“These should fit. The bathroom’s over there; I imagine you’ll want to wash up, too.”

Lillian responded, shaking the gun enough for Rosie to be reminded of it, “Right. You first.”

Rosie led Lillian into the bathroom, wishing for the thousandth time that it was bigger, closed the toilet lid, and sat down. Lillian set the gun down on the end of the counter that was furthest from Rosie, stripped down to her bra and underwear, and quickly and carefully used the hand towel that was hanging next to the sink to wash the remnants of blood off of her hands and arms before putting on the borrowed clothing. She bent down to get what she could off of her white running shoes, and put them back on her feet, double-knotting the laces.

Flicking her ashes into the bathtub, Rosie decided it was time to pry.

“So…it’s not really my business, but now that you’re in my home I think I can make the case that you owe me some kind of information as to why you are threatening me with a gun…?”

Grabbing the brush and a hair band from the countertop basket, Lillian fixed her hair into a messy ponytail as she contemplated how much to share with Rosie. She did feel like she owed her a story, considering the fact that she brought her back to her apartment and seemed to be interested in helping rather than trying to figure out how to call the cops; Lillian just didn’t know how much of the truth she should tell her.

Lillian placed the brush back into the basket and gingerly took the gun off of the counter. “Tell you what, get me a garbage bag for my old clothes and this towel, and we can sit down and have a chat.”

Rosie stood up, tossed her cigarette into the toilet, and took a bag from the linen closet, handing it to Lillian. She got the distinct feeling that Lillian was more distressed than dangerous, and calmly walked ahead of her, back into the living room where they sat down on the couch together.

“So,” Rosie began, “you’re obviously in some kind of trouble. Who’s after you?”

Lillian, trying to mentally balance her need for discretion with the desire to have someone on her side, let her story unfold.

“My sister is in grave danger,” she said. “You don’t need to know the details but…she’s currently in the hands of….in the hands of…” Her voice broke. She shook her head, as if doing that would rid her brain of the images of Mae that had been in that envelope.

She began again. “Some people have abducted my sister. I think it’s a plot to get back at my father.”

“What has your father done?” Rosie pried, lighting yet another cigarette.

“Ugh, too much,” Lillian replied. “My dad is retired military. He served this country honorably and he served well, but after he returned home from the Gulf in 1991, he was changed. Something happened over there—I still am not exactly sure what—but he got tangled in with some less-than-honorable people…Damien…” Her voice trailed off.

“Damien.” Rosie repeated. “What’d he do?”

“Listen,” Lillian said, “I’m sorry. You have helped me so far and I know you want to know, and I want to tell you. But honestly, I don’t want to bring you into this any deeper than I already have. Damien is bad news. BAD NEWS. My dad…he’s always warned me about him. It’s best if you don’t know. All I know is that I am carrying a package,” Lillian tilted her head towards her bag. “Whatever is in that package is going to get my sister back. At least, I hope it will.”

“You don’t know what’s in the package?” Rosie asked.

“No. It’s wrapped. I was following orders to deliver it. My sister…”

Rosie smiled. “You’re ‘off the grid’ at the moment. Don’t you think you should find out what you’re carrying around? It might provide some leverage for you.”

Lillian didn’t know why she didn’t think of it before, but at the same time was struck with a twinge of fear that went straight through her heart. The pictures of Mae that were with the package were bad enough…she didn’t think she could handle it if the contents of the package were directly related. Her heart sunk, but she knew that opening the package might be her only hope of saving Mae at this point. She looked at Rosie, who stared back at her with kind eyes.

Emptying the bullets from the gun into her hand, Lillian rose from the couch, put the gun on the coffee table, and walked over to her bag. She hoped this wasn’t a mistake.

Rosie stayed completely still on the couch, cigarette between her fingers, excited to be a part of this but terrified that her suggestion might have been a poor one.

Lillian returned to the couch, sat down with her legs curled up under her, and turned the package over and over in her hands, as if she were in a trance. Finally, she slowly and deliberately peeled one of the taped corners away, and then another. The heavy brown paper came off easily, exposing a black metal box with a simple latch closure. She looked at Rosie, who hadn’t moved an inch and was watching her every move. She paused for a moment, looked up towards the ceiling, and sighed.

“Here goes…” she said.

Carefully pulling open the latch, she opened the box, and gasped.

“Look at her face,” said Trinidad with an evil grin. “You can actually see it in her eyes — she’d rather be dead. This may be our best work yet.”

“I think you’re right,” replied his cohort, still clutching the camera responsible for the disturbing footage. “Perhaps we should film in there more often.”

That was the first time they had ever recorded in the dungeon. Usually the action went down right there in the media room. With the lens focused on the come-stained and threadbare brown couch upon which the two men now sat. During those sessions, Trinidad would force his victim to watch the dehumanizing act she was enduring. In high definition, no less. On the same 63-inch Samsung which currently rendered him smitten, his face aglow with demonic pride.

The decision to film Mae in the dungeon was an easy one for Damien to make. No sense in assuming the small risk of transporting her to and from the media room unless they intended on killing her, which, of course, would necessitate better light than the dungeon had to offer. But such was not the case. For Damien knew that without Mae, he would never get his package. Nor would he be able to lure Mae and Lillian’s father. And Damien still had some unfinished business to settle with him.

The decision was not a popular one, as, predictably, Trinidad wanted to off her. He derived great satisfaction from his appearances in snuff videos and was very proud of the revenue they generated. And no death meant no black-market blockbuster. But it was more than just his ego. Such work also stimulated Trinidad’s intellect. He had always wondered if his victims actually saw their deaths. Perhaps, he hypothesized, the senses could outlive the body, if only for a second, thus allowing the soul to take with it the hi-definition imagery of the carnal murder Trinidad had gleefully executed moments before as it floated away from the corpse and into the forever thereafter. At least a time or two, he was near certain. That the victim had seen her death, that is. Near certain.

And Trinidad had a funny feeling that Mae would be the very subject to finally answer this most perplexing of questions beyond a shadow of a doubt. It was primarily for that reason he maintained that she should be allowed to kill her. But Damien would hear nothing of it. And his word was final.

“She looks just like her sister only not as emaciated, no?” asked Trinidad. Before the cameraman could answer, a sultry voice sounded from the circular red speakers mounted in the ceiling directly above them.

“Trinidad, Damien wants to see you.”

“Fuck,” he muttered quietly as he clicked pause and pulled himself off the sodded sofa. “We haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.” He shuffled over to the intercom beside the media room door and took a deep breath before depressing the red button to the left of the unit. “What does he want?” he asked impatiently.

“He didn’t say. But he sounded mad.”

“Mad?” he repeated quizzically with a voice that was laced with concern.

Trinidad rubbed his hands together as he walked the dimly lit corridor toward the big boss’s office. They were damp with anxiety. In all his years, he had never once been summoned unexpectedly by Damien, a fact he contemplated before a wave of nausea overtook him. The feeling escorted him all the way to the door.

His trembling hand had difficulty gliding the red card key inside the slot, though eventually it did just that. Seconds later, the door to opened slowly from right to left. Trinidad walked inside then took a seat on the leather couch that flanked the wall to his right and waited patiently for the next door to open. As he sat, he wondered what it was that Damien wanted with him.

He’d pretty much followed all of his orders to a tee. He hadn’t killed Mae, so that couldn’t be it. He had dispatched the snipers the moment they learned Rutherford and Lillian had made a break for it, so that couldn’t be it, either. Granted, he admitted to himself, it would have been ideal if they had captured Lillian, but even if they had, her dad was still nowhere to be found, and without him, the package meant nothing.

The electric hum of the second door startled Trinidad. It, too, opened from right to left, and as it did, it revealed a smoky red haze which blinded him for a moment. Eventually, however, he was able to detect a small silhouette through his squinted eyes. One which appeared to be approaching him.

“He’s ready for you,” said the voice that belonged to the figure — the same sultry one that had initially summoned Trinidad from the overhead speakers in the media room. He could finally see the woman. She was voluptuous and completely naked, except for the red satin sheet which was wrapped around her body and remained just so thanks to her clutched hand which rested delicately between her ample breasts.

A fiery steam rose from her bare shoulders, as if they were smoldering. Her round, beautiful face was expressionless and void of any discernible emotion as she methodically walked past Trinidad toward the main door. She exited without even so much as a glance in his general direction.

Trinidad walked meekly toward the red haze, offering no resistance as it swallowed him whole. The fiery vertigo which ensued ended as suddenly as it began and when it did, he found himself standing in front of the skinny, iron table. It was longer than he had remembered, stretching as far as he could see to either side. The box which sat on top was still closed, thank God.

On the other side of the table stood Damien. The endless wall behind him emanated the reddish glow which provided the room’s only light. It rendered Damien nothing more than an impossibly large and completely dark figure, and also cast his eerie shadow upon the table, two tufts of hair atop his perfectly ovular head flickering along with the rest of his reflection like sharp triangular protrusions busting from his scalp. Trinidad involuntarily flinched each time they extended beyond the table as if fearful they might actually pierce his skin.

“Do you know why you’re here?” asked Damien.

“No sir. I don’t.”

“You’re here because you’ve fucked up. And in so doing, you’ve all but ruined my chances of receiving what’s rightfully mine.”

“But, sir, I don’t see how. Once Lillian watches the DVD of Mae, she’ll surely be here post haste. And she won’t dare arrive without your package.”

“Yes, but what about her dad, you stupid piece of shit?” asked Damien. “Now that your idiot snipers killed Rutherford, what, exactly, is going to lure that worthless bastard to me?”

Trinidad’s heart sank to his stomach as he looked toward the ground in shame. When he had given the directive to kill Rutherford, he had failed to consider that angle. “I understand your concern, sir. I will do everything possible to make amends for my mistake.”

“You’re damn right you will. You know how? By personally bringing Lillian and her father to me. No more third party bullshit. I’m giving you twenty-four hours to get it done.”

“Twenty-four hours?” Trinidad repeated in shock. “With all do respect, sir, I can’t possibly deliver both of them to you by then. We don’t even know where Lillian’s dad is.”

“That’s not my fucking problem, now is it?” hissed Damien, the triangular shadows cast from atop his head seemingly growing.

“No sir, it’s not,” answered Trinidad as he retreated every so slightly. “It’s my problem. And I’ll bring them both to you by this time tomorrow.”

“Good,” said Damien. “Do you have any questions before I excuse you?”

“Just one, sir,” said Trinidad. “What will happen if it takes me longer than that?”

“I’ll push the button,” answered Damien matter-of-factly while tapping his index finger on the box that sat atop the long, iron table.

Trinidad nodded solemnly, then turned to exit.

“Oh, Trinidad, just one more thing.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“Don’t worry too much about the button. For even if I’m forced to push it, you and I will still maintain our association.”

A look of relief came over Trinidad’s face. “That’s reassuring to know, sir.”

“Indeed it must be. You’ll love Hell, my friend. It’s delightful this time of year.” With that Damien turned and exited to Trinidad’s left, his haunting laugh echoing behind him as he went.

It was that laugh which reverberated within the depths of Trinidad’s soul as he made his way back to the other side. Once finally outside the big boss’s office, he scampered quickly down the dimly lit corridor back toward the media room, taking time only to consult his watch.

It was ten past noon.

“I… I don’t have a car.”

Oblivious to what was happening to her sister, only blocks from where she stood pointing a gun at a perfect stranger, Lillian had a moment of panic. She had achieved what she was going for, she had Rosie’s attention but now, she might not be of any use to her. What kind of woman this day in age doesn’t have a car?!

Lillian had to think fast. It was only a matter of time before someone came across her pointing a gun at this woman. Shit, the red headed friend who talked to much might come back at any minute, telling her about the limo and the two dead bodies in it that was causing all the commotion. She had to get a better hold of this situation.

“What’s your name?” Lillian asked.

Still in shock, Rosie slowly stuttered out her name. Her mind was busy racing with thoughts of her mother, another hangover, and how calming another cigarette would be right this minute. In her ragged thought process, she wondered if the crazy woman with a gun would object to her smoking.

“Listen Rosie, we need to take a walk. NOW.” Lillian gestured toward the street. “I need you to walk right next to me, casually, like we’re two best friends coming from breakfast. It’s time to wipe that look off your face Rosie, I need your head to be in this otherwise you are of no use to me.”

Rosie nodded slowly and joined Lillian at the edge of the sidewalk. “Did you know you’re covered in blood?” she asked, glancing down at Lillian. “You might want to clean up if we’re going to walk down the streets of D.C. A lot of these people may have their heads up their asses but someone is going to notice that”.

Rosie had a point. She needed to get cleaned up, and fast. She needed to stop and think about where she was going to go from here. She wished hard that Rutherford were still alive or, at the very least, had told her how to open this damn case. She needed some clean clothes and a cup of coffee, preferably with some Kahlua in it. What she really needed was her life back.

Rosie watched as Lillian worked things over in her brain. She glanced quickly around, wondering if it would be worth it to run. She tried to make pointed eye contact with people walking by but everyone she passed had their noses buried in their iPhones. She was often tempted to stick her foot out as they passed her by, just to watch them fall over themselves. They’d probably attempt to save their phones before their faces planted into the sidewalks. She absentmindedly reached into her purse for her pack of cigarettes. Lillian still seemed deep in thought, even though the tip of the gun had never lost its pressure in her side.

She offered Lillian a cigarette and a suggestion. “I live two blocks from here.”

Trying to wipe the look of shock quickly off her face, Lillian nodded firmly and pushed the gun deeper into Rosie’s side. “Let’s go.”

Rosie hoped she wasn’t making a mistake. She just couldn’t shake the timing of the fortune from the other morning…

“Society prepares the crime; the criminal commits it.”

Instead of walking in the direction of the police department, she started leading the crazy woman with a gun to her apartment.