Just a heads-up ~ another pretty sadistic chapter. Heed the rating ~M~

Please Review, let me know how I'm doing. Still MUCH more to come.

FYI ~ I was listening to "What Lies Beneath" by Breaking Benjamin while writing this - I think it enhances the experience. That and, "Into the Nothing." But that's just me. If other songs come to mind while you read, I'd love to hear about them.

Anyway, buckle up - WHOLE new side of Joel today.

Enjoy~ TLD

Part Sixteen: What Lies Beneath


Small, agonized moans interrupted the steady drip-drop of blood draining into the silver basin on the floor. Veronica cradled the cold body of her sister-of-sorts, Melody, in her arms, dissipating her fear and sadness over her sister's comatose state with tiny moans that became increasingly irritating to Lilith.

"Veronica," Lilith chided sternly. "Control yourself."

Veronica's eyes flashed with anger. "She's not breathing," she nearly hissed.

Lilith's voice sounded utterly bored. "It is of no matter. The boy's blood will revive her," she added, lazily. She gestured to the teenage boy, hanging from the ceiling by his ankles, his bruised and bloody face slack in death, distorted in echoing remnants of his final moments of pain. A deep gash in his neck trailed a thick river of blood down the side of his face and into his hair, dripping steadily into the silver basin beneath.

Veronica was not convinced. "Yea?" she scoffed, "and how do you propose she drink it?" she added sarcastically.

Lilith's eyes darkened threateningly. In a deadened monotone, full of venom, she said, "Her body will awake. The body will not allow the soul to slip away. As long as the body remains intact, it will work to ensure survival. When consciousness fails, the beast awakens and takes control to preserve itself." She smiled dangerously, "you shall see."

The darkness was heavy. Joel felt it pressing down on his lungs, crushing him beneath its infinite weight. His head throbbed and his arms and legs were pinned beneath the invisible dark weight, pressing on his eyes, crushing his lungs. He fought to keep from succumbing to darkness, to breaking beneath the unfathomable pressure.

He was only vaguely aware of his surroundings. He heard a faint beating of a heart nearby, smelled the faint scents he associated with Wednesday.

He fought the crushing darkness.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but then he heard movement and smelled a new scent. His concentration was broken by the sound of a thud. The weight of darkness increased.

As he lost his hold over it, he noticed with a shock that the heartbeat was gone.

The beast awoke. Hungry. Starving. Burning. Muscles aching.

Alert.

With sudden awareness, the hunter surveyed the small room, the reddish tint of thirst coloring his vision, bringing details into startling clarity.

He was alone.

But the room bore the traces of another. A female. He could almost see the trail of her scent on the air, of her residual heat on the cold floor and chilly night air. He followed the trail out of the tiny room.

Once out in the night air, the hunter felt a surge of relief. Scents, tastes, and sounds from miles around hit him in a rush, and, despite his intense hunger, he felt alive. He was just about to track the smell of the female, when a far off scream reached his ears.

It was female, and perhaps a mile away – in the opposite direction of the other trail. He hesitated for only a moment before another shriek reached his ears. The sound of her agony decided him. It was too sweet to pass up.

He shot through the graveyard like a bullet, running parallel to a nearby highway. From what he could make out, the sounds were coming from a point about 50 feet away from the highway. Based on the topography around him, he was convinced that the female was somewhere in the forest near the highway.

As he drew closer, thrilling to the feel of his body darting around tombstones, using the exhilaration of the hunt to distract himself from the searing agony of thirst and blood deprivation, he sensed another presence.

The male was laughing. She screamed again. A fresh whiff of blood filled the air, and the female whimpered in pain. Now she was crying. Pleading. He heard the sounds of struggle and of a body crawling through leaves and fallen branches.

He could smell his adrenaline. He reeked of sweat and blood and alcohol and sex, and he lumbered through the underbrush, laughing as his prey struggled to evade him. He'd already played with his prey and was savoring the sounds of her fear and pain before he went for the kill.

The hunter smiled. This male was sloppy; his prey was getting away.

She screamed again as she caught her foot on a tree root and fell to the ground. The hunter's eyes nearly rolled back in his head from the pleasure of her agonized scream. He was close now. Closer to her than the male. He would take away the prey and then hunt the man who thought himself a hunter. He smiled. I'll show him how it's done, he thought savagely.

Finally, he saw her. She was untangling her torn and tattered party dress from a sticker bush on the edge of the forest. Her face was dirty and coated with blood, her right cheek swelling from being struck. Her feet were bare and bleeding and tearstains traced lines down her grimy face. She hadn't seen him yet.

He arranged himself in a calm stance, suddenly realizing he wasn't wearing a shirt. Damn. That would put a damper on his ability to look suave, but it didn't matter, she wouldn't have much time to think about it.

Suddenly she saw him. Abandoning reason in her fear, she ran toward him.

"Please, help me. He's – there's a man back there – our car broke down – my husband – I don't know if he's – and he – he's coming. Please, please, help me," she whimpered. She nearly fell into his arms.

"Shh," he crooned. "I've got you," he added, a smile in his voice.

Her body tensed, as reason flooded in. She pulled back, "Who are you? What are you doing here? Why –" questions poured out of her as she tried to rip herself free of his grasp and continue running.

He gripped her elbows and held her close. With slowly reddening eyes, he stared deeply into her blue ones. He poured his will into her, locking her in his thrall. Do not struggle, do not fight. Stay. Stay with me. His will poured into her and her body relaxed.

He ran his hand through her knotted hair and cupped her dirt-stained face in his hand. His hand traveled down her face and rested on her throat. He felt the strong pulse of her blood against her skin. She remained still, though she trembled slightly under his touch. He leaned his head toward hers, his thirst pulling him and anticipation vibrating through his veins. He moved slowly, savoring the moment – tasting her fear and scent on the breeze, feeling her warmth, and the softness of her skin – before sinking his teeth into the fragrant blood beneath.

His lips had just grazed the skin on her neck, when a new scent and sound reached him.

He, a new male, was stumbling from the highway, screaming. "Diane? Oh my God, Diane! Where are you? Help! Someone's taken my wife! Diane? Help!! Oh God, somebody please help me!"

His voice shook her and she nearly broke free of her trance. The hunter drew back to look at her face. Her eyes were glazed over, but her brow furrowed into a look of concern. A single tear welled up in the corner of her eye and dripped down her cheek as she closed her eyes, as if understanding she'd never live to see her husband again.

The hunter froze, confused. His thirst stabbed at him and he felt his body weakening. As a strong wave of desire pierced him, he poised for the strike.

"Stay away from her," a lazy, languid voice called out from the trees.

Joel stirred beneath the beast's hold. The male monster had finally caught up to his prey. He eyed Joel speculatively. Seeing only a young man embracing 'his' woman, he underestimated Joel. He didn't even bother with trying to look threatening.

The beast within Joel flared up and the hunter stepped away from the woman's body. In a strangely ironic gesture, he placed his body between hers and the male's.

The man continued the charade. "Stay away from my wife, you bastard," he choked out, almost laughing at his own private joke.

The hunter smiled and took a small step toward him. "Certainly." He let his thirst burn red in his eyes and felt his fangs grow in his mouth.

Forming a grotesquely wicked smile, he watched the man's face as he slowly realized his danger.

"Wha- what are you?" he sputtered, moving clumsily away from Joel's body.

The hunter smiled, and leapt high, closing the distance between him and his prey in one fluid bound. With inches separating them, he answered, "Thirsty."

He ripped and he drank, he broke slowly and sweetly, and the man's screams filled the clearing.

Sated, the hunter collapsed against a tree trunk, breathing hard.

The ground was cool, and the breeze was laden with dew – dawn only an hour or so away. With each deep breath, the beast lost ground and Joel wrestled for control. The warm blood in his system healed ripped arteries and closed his open wounds.

As Joel came to, the final images of the serial killer's life were flickering past his eyes, and a nauseated feeling spread through his stomach. With a shock, the images died and he realized he had no idea where he was. Slowly, the images from the beast's memory filtered through and he looked out into the clearing where the woman stood as if paralyzed.

Joel suddenly felt an overwhelming wave of nausea at what he might have done – what he almost did – to that poor woman.

In the distance he could hear the woman's husband shouting and stumbling, as if by some miracle, toward her. From where he sat, too afraid to go anywhere near her, he released her from the thrall.

Shaking as if with chill, she spun around, searching for danger. She was crying, sobs racking her chest. Suddenly, she heard his voice. She happened to have her face toward Joel, so he saw it happen. She heard his voice and her crying stopped. Her tortured eyes lit up and her dirty, tired face lit up like she'd heard the voice of God.

Without realizing it, Joel's eyes filled with tears. He'd never seen a face of such intense joy before. With a devastating wave of self-disgust, he doubled over and threw up. Long after he'd lost the contents of his stomach, he laid, curled up in a ball in the mud, shaking like an addict or an epileptic as panic, self-disgust, fear, relief, and anger so acute it felt like a physical burning, racked his body and tortured his mind.

And the final hour before dawn ticked away.