Elle Jasper - Eventide

I nod. “Sounds good. Catch you guys later,” I say.

We all part ways; Eli and I head back to Inksomnia.

As we drive through Savannah’s squares, even the annoying sounds of traffic—horns blowing, people shouting, and somewhere close by, a jackhammer—none of it is able to keep my eyes open. My lids feel heavy, and they drift shut. The sounds around me, even the wind, extinguish. I vaguely recall my body being lifted and carried indoors. Next thing I know, the world around me is pitch black, and I’m dead to everything except the sound of my sluggish heartbeat.

It’s nighttime, and darkness envelops me. Not just the physical lack of sun, but inside of me is dark, also. As I walk along the sidewalk, it consumes me. I’m like a cat, always on alert to catch something unsuspecting off guard. Play with it for a while. Sink my teeth into it. Kill it.

What? What the hell was that? I stop in midtracks and look around. The street is empty except for the Savannah Yellow Cab that is parked a few blocks away. The oaks loom overhead; the Spanish moss hangs like wispy gray hair, matted and knotty. Shadows surge from the corners of yards and aged brick homes. I like the darkness, and I like the shadows even more. Menace. That’s what I feel. But why?

I begin to move again, slowly up the sidewalk toward the cab. I have no intentions at first; I’m just there, a form of life moving through shadows, trying to find my way…somewhere. I guess I have no purpose. But the very instant my eyes lock on the red ember of a lit cigarette flame inside the cab, I know. I am fixated on it now. On what’s inside the cab.

The regular thump of the heartbeat of the cab driver resonates in my ears. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

I have purpose. I have intention.

A craving roars inside of me. It takes on a life of its own and I am powerless to stop it. Or, I simply don’t want to. The lines are blurred now. I’m confused. This thing inside of me? It pulses. Breathes.

Possesses.

I move through the shadows now, closer to the parked cab. Closer to the heartbeat. As I sidle up to the passenger side door, I tap on the window with my index finger.

The window rolls down.

“I’m on a break,” the cab driver says with the cigarette clenched in his lips.

I smile and lean down to look at him through the window. My hair falls over my shoulder. “For how long?”

The cab driver’s eyes dart directly to my low-cut shirt, where his gaze lingers on the swell of my breasts. I allow it. Encourage it by taking a few exaggerated deep breaths. Then, he looks at me and grins. “Till now. Hop in.”

I grasp the door handle to the backseat and climb in.

“Where to?” he asks, looking at me through his rearview mirror. A panel of plastic glass separates us.

I shrug casually, lean back against the seat, and lock my eyes with his through the mirror. “Tybee. North Beach.”

Again, he grins. “You got it.” Only now does he flick the cigarette out the window. Then he puts the cab in drive and pulls out onto the street. At Victory, we take a left. We’re both silent until well onto the Island’s Expressway, nearly to North Beach. Silent, but the cab driver’s eyes continuously flicker to the rearview mirror to watch me. Although I’ve looked at him, I can’t tell you what he looks like. I don’t know the color of his eyes, or his skin. I don’t know how old he is. I know only that despite his cigarette smoking, his heart is strong. Damn strong.

We are just cresting the last bridge. The roads are empty, the night moonless. The tide is high, and the pungent scent of brine lingers heavy in the air. I see a side street edging the marsh. “Take a right,” I say.

The cab driver does as I ask. Along the narrow side street he creeps. The road winds around, hugging the marsh and salt water. We’re now at the back of a few rental houses on stilts. They appear to be empty.

“Stop here,” I say as we near one of the stilt houses overlooking the salt water.

“Nineteen sixty-five,” he says, and half turns in his seat to stare at me. “Long drive from Victory.” Again, his eyes drift to my breasts and linger.

“I’ve got it right here,” I say, and then use the power of seduction. I scoot back against the seat, my chest heaving out of my shirt and the cab driver’s eyes glued to it as though he’d never laid eyes on boobs before. Slowly, I ease my fingers to the opening of my shirt, the cabbie all but slobbering on himself. So engrossed with my fingers fumbling so close to my breasts to retrieve what he thinks is cab fare that he doesn’t see what’s really coming. The panel of plastic glass that separates us shatters as I lift my leg and slam my heel against it. The cabbie stares at me in shock, mouth open. With one arm I grab him by his shirt collar and yank him over the seat, right through the remaining shards of plastic glass. In the backseat I straddle him, and for a split second, his eyes lock onto mine and smolder. His cock hardens beneath me, and I almost laugh. The fucker thinks he’s gonna get laid.

That thing inside of me is free now. My eyes close, my body convulses, but only for a couple of seconds. When next I open my eyes, I see nothing, I feel nothing. I hear only the heartbeat. The sound of blood coursing through veins. It beckons me, unleashes my craving. In one fluid motion I tear away the thin layer of his shirt, and I lunge at his chest. My teeth break through skin, bone, muscle, until I feel a pop, and warm liquid settles against my tongue. I’m in a feeding frenzy now, and the man’s high-pitched screams barely break through my focus.

Those screams are quickly extinguished.

My thirst is finally quenched.

Grabbing his discarded and shredded shirt, I wipe my mouth, my face, and climb off of him. Easing out of the cab, I leave the door open and begin to jog up the winding street hugging the marsh. At the bridge, I break into a run. The briny air whips at my face and hair as my speed picks up to an inhuman pace. That suits me. I’m no longer human anyway, so why fuck with human qualities? I can run like the fucking wind. And I do.

As I grow close to Victory Drive, I slow to a boring human pace. My insides soar; a strength I never knew could exist trembles within me. I feel good! Alive! With a quick glance at the oncoming traffic—minimal at this hour but there is a small trail of cars—I hurry across the street and slow to a walk on the sidewalk. Just as I reach the next block, I’m grabbed. A hand encircles my upper arm and I’m yanked to a halt…

“Riley. Wake up.” A hand on my upper arm shakes me.

The voice is muffled, and far, far away. I ignore it, shrug off the hand. Exhaustion tugs me under and away from the voice. Am I asleep or walking along a sidewalk? Either way, I want to stay where I am. Not…with this voice.

“Riley!” This time, the voice and hand speak and shake more violently.

“What?” I say grumpily, and crack my eyes open. It takes a few seconds for my vision and mind to clear. I focus on Eli’s face. My eyes scan the room. My room. At Inksomnia. Slowly, I push up onto my elbows, then I sit up.

Eli lowers himself onto the edge of the bed. With one hand, he pushes the hair from my face and presses his lips to my forehead. When he pulls back and stares at me, I see concern in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. I feel…dirty. Grungy-dirty, like I need a shower.

Eli’s cerulean blue eyes search mine. “You can’t know how much I hate not being able to read your thoughts,” he says. “What were you just dreaming about? Can you remember?”