MURDER IN VEIN
by Sue Ann Jaffarian
CHAPTER 1.
Madison had been in Los Angeles just over two years when she found herself face down on the ground in a wooded area. Her clothes were in tatters. Duct tape held her hands. A filthy rag muffled her screams. Fear coursed through her battered body, scraping and tearing with jagged edges as she fought to maintain control of her slippery mind. It was the only weapon she had left.
When she turned her head slowly to the side, pine needles and gravel ground into the cuts and bruises on her face, the pain bringing clarity to her mind for a fleeting moment. Bobby Piper had smacked Madison around pretty good while dragging her from the car. After roughing her up and ripping at her clothes, he’d stopped, then moved away, seeming to have second thoughts. He certainly hadn’t had any second thoughts an hour ago when he grabbed her in the parking lot outside the diner where she worked.
The moonlight penetrating the canopy of overhead branches allowed her to see Bobby as he sat with his back against a nearby tree. He was guzzling from a can of generic beer torn from the six pack resting at his side. He glanced at the cheap watch strapped to his wrist. He seemed to be waiting for something or someone.
There had been several news reports over the past year about missing women. Three had been found dead and mutilated. The others were never found. And even though the police claimed to have the killer in custody, panic and terror gathered anew as Madison worried about being the guest of honor at something evil and terrifying. She wiggled, but the tape around her hands and feet stayed put. Bobby noticed and glanced her way, causing her to freeze.
Getting only to his knees, Bobby scooted over and knelt next to Madison. “Steady now,” he warned. He bent close and tongued her ear as he spoke. When she squirmed in disgust, he laughed. “Don’t go making things worse for yourself.”
“Worse?” Madison thought. “Worse than this?” Her fear splintered, invading every cell of her body.
Bobby glanced again at his watch, then looked off in the direction of Madison’s car, which he’d driven with her stuffed in the trunk. “Damn it. Where is he?” he said to the empty night.
These were the last words he ever uttered.
Something had come out of the dark. Something large and silent. It had struck Bobby hard and fast, sending him into the tree where he’d been leaning just a moment before. Beer, malty and lukewarm, rained on Madison’s face. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of her attacker splayed against the thick trunk of the tree, busted and askew, a rag doll in a disturbing pose. He moaned.
Whatever it was that had attacked Bobby, now hovered over his broken body, totally ignoring her. It tore at Bobby’s shirt, the fabric rasping loud and foreign against the natural sounds of the night. It looked to Madison like a man, dark and looming in appearance. When it raised its head and looked up at the moon, she saw that it was a man – an older man, his face strong but weathered, his jaw line slack with age. Then he looked back down at Bobby. Bobby screamed. It was a short scream, winding quickly down into a whimper, until Madison could hear it no more.
The man raised his head again towards the moon. Even with the rag in her mouth, Madison’s breath caught in her throat. He heard it, and turned towards her, leaning down until she could smell his metallic breath. He grimaced, displaying fangs dark and thick with fresh blood – Bobby’s blood.
Madison passed out.
When she regained consciousness, Madison found Bobby Piper trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey. He was just as white as raw poultry and just as dead.
“My name is Madison Rose,” the woman reminded herself in silence while she studied Bobby’s body. She hoped that remembering the small details of her life would keep her focused and not allow her mind to drift back into unconsciousness. What she’d seen – the man with the fangs – couldn’t have been real. Bobby’s killer was just another psychopath like himself. She tried desperately to convince herself that her mind was playing tricks on her.
Madison heard footsteps. The sound brought her focus back to the problem at hand. It sounded like there was more than one set. They moved with stealth over the dead leaves until they were nearby. She didn’t close her eyes, but neither did she turn her head to look.
“What should we do with her?” she heard a woman ask in a soft cultured voice.
“She saw me,” a man answered. “We’ll have to kill her.” His voice was low, rounded out in unexpected civility and almost apologetic.
“Madison. Rose.” She repeated it to herself like a mantra. It was her first and last name. She had no middle name like regular people. Just a last name for her first name and a first name for her last. People had always screwed it up. No matter how clearly she explained it, there was always some jackass who insisted on filing her under the M’s instead of the R’s. On more than one occasion, she’d thought about changing her name to Rose Madison, just to make things easier for everyone. But she’d never been known for making things easy on the folks around her. Or on herself. After being raised in a string of foster homes, Madison Rose wasn’t used to things being easy on any level.
Remembering the details of her short life didn’t change the fact that she was still on the ground, still bound and gagged – a sitting duck for whatever hell would come next. Looking again at Bobby’s body, she had only one regret – that she hadn’t killed him herself.
It also crossed her mind that moving to LA had been a bad call.
Note: The above is an uncorrected draft excerpt and may not be the same as in the final book.
