Teeth Read online

  “Jesus, Brittany.” Henry saw the boy flinch and the truck jolted forward as he cut the ignition. “Really, girl?”

  “Yes, really.” The girl shifted in her seat and Henry could see her wide smile. “I told you I was horny.”

  “You’re always horny. Shit, you’re known for being horny!”

  The boy turned toward the concessions and Henry quickly pulled back into the darkened doorway of the bathroom, coming up against but not knocking over the mop bucket he’d just emptied. His hand moved behind him to steady the equipment.

  “Not in here. Come on.” The boy opened the truck and hopped down. He turned and put a hand up for the girl, but she ignored it and jumped directly at him, knocking him backwards as he struggled to catch her and retain his balance.

  “Bathrooms?” Her eyes were wide with excitement and Henry realized they were looking for somewhere private. He held his breath and tried not to panic.

  “Nah, they’re always locked after practice. But we can go back behind concessions. At least there’s a mat back there.”

  She reached down and slapped his ass. “Well giddy-up!”

  He turned and came straight toward Henry, past the soda and pretzel stands. The boy turned suddenly into the concession area for hot dogs, the last stand before the bathroom, just as Henry thought he’d squeal and give away his position. Instead, he had a perfect view from the tiny gap in the barely open door. He relaxed a little, exhaled, and watched the teens.

  The girl unwrapped her legs and released her hold on him as she hopped down to the ground, her weight making no noise as it hit the mat in the quiet under the bleachers. She immediately undid his pants, reached in, and wrapped her fingers around his already reacting penis. He wriggled his jeans down to his knees and let her continue to fondle him to hardness, his pants landing in a scrunched-up heap at his ankles, kept there by his shoes. “You’re not going to use those fangs on me, are you?”

  Henry gasped in the darkness. Was she a vampire? Human boys tended to be fascinated with the vampire girls. His dad, several actors he knew about, and even a few of the school staff—it was almost as stereotypical as a jock with a bouncing blonde on his arm. And now this couple was possibly both clichés.

  Brittany giggled as she expertly unhooked her bra with a flick of her fingers. “Only if you ask me to…”

  “Um…” He reached over and helped her remove her shirt and loose bra. “Take ’em out.”

  Out? Fake fangs. Henry’s disappointment was only momentary, as his voyeuristic curiosity began to spread warmth through his body.

  “You talk too much.” Brittany dove in and kissed him deeply, her tongue visibly delving past his teeth with a lustful hunger.

  Henry recognized the girl. She’d been in his bleachers before. And in the boy’s room in the school. And in the locker rooms of both the pool and arena buildings.

  Slut. He immediately tagged her as his mother would have.

  If she was a vampire, Henry could have excused it as simply living life to the fullest. But as a human, a fragile being who will age and die before a vampire is even settled down? Disgusting.

  His mother had told him, “Once you have sex there’s no going back to holding hands.” And he’d been very careful to never overstep boundaries with women. Of course, he’d only had the two occasions. The not necessarily unattractive waitress who was happy to have his attention, until she revealed her true self and he realized her loneliness had turned to desperation. Henry didn’t feel she was picky at all. She only wanted out of the life she’d dug herself into, and he wasn’t interested in being someone’s escape plan.

  The other opportunity had been squelched before it even blossomed, when his ex-best friend in high school purposely went after the girl he knew Henry had a crush on—Heather. The second the fangs had sprouted on those closest to him, Henry had been abandoned by his own friends. They had nailed the coffins of their friendship shut forever by purposely going out with anyone they knew Henry had been interested in but too shy to talk to. Last he heard, Heather had two babies from two different boys, and she was with neither. Slut.

  Sex got you nothing but disappointment.

  Lust didn’t need to be sexual to be sated. It could simply be possession, a taste of someone else’s life. Or death. Henry smirked and felt himself starting to get excited as the teen spoke and drew his attention back to the show.

  “Slow down, girl.” The boy pushed her off him and looked around the area for something. The autumn sun had begun to dip into the horizon and the area under the bleachers was dimming.

  “Why? You want me, don’t you? Or do you want to play games? You want sex? Have sex. I’m sure as hell not going to stop you! But I’ll play if you want…” She grinned and scrambled past him. “Catch me and you can have me.”

  The boy rolled his eyes and gave another cursory glance around before grabbing a handful of napkins from the dispenser under the counter.

  Brittany laughed like a child getting away with something as she turned at the end of the bleachers and ran out to the field. “Plus, the grass is softer!”

  The boy grinned like someone with a great idea they weren’t sharing. He pulled his pants up and simply held them there as he chased her, frantically trying to shove the napkins into a front pocket.

  Henry needed to follow. He knew that. He needed to be part of this now. They had brought it to him and his definition of lust was getting muddied with their own. He glanced around, unsure what he was looking for, but settled on the bucket and the short length of pipe he used to torque the missing handle on the water spigot. He grabbed the bucket by the handle and pulled the pipe free from his cart. He didn’t have a plan, but he had an idea.

  Henry slipped to the end of the bleachers and dared a look, as the boy caught up to the girl and dusk triggered the automated lights around the field meant to keep trespassers out—this pair didn’t seem to notice. They tumbled to the ground as Henry moved up along the side of the rusted Ford and used its shadow for shelter.

  The boy’s mouth met Brittany’s the same time his hand found the flesh of her thigh, his tongue pushing past her lips as his fingers pushed her skirt higher.

  “No underwear?” Surprise evident in his eyes.

  She answered with a smile and rolled on top of him, expertly slinking backward, away from his face, shimmying his pants down to his ankles on her way. Brittany raised an eyebrow at the no longer flaccid penis popping free of the denim, standing at attention like a soldier awaiting an order. She cupped his nuts, pulling them up enough to teasingly tap her index finger against the backside of his sack. She bent down and dragged her tongue along the scar-like line of his perineum. Against the laws of nature and the cool night air, Henry saw the boy’s cock grew harder still, as he heard himself gasp. Covering his mouth, he waited, but they didn’t stop. They hadn’t heard him.

  They didn’t notice anything outside their own flesh.

  Henry exhaled and squinted to get a better look. He watched with a slack jaw as the girl stroked the base of the thick vein raised on the front of the boy’s penis. He watched her movements and compared his own body to that of the half naked boy on the field. He was enthralled with the boy’s penis. He’d heard menstrual blood tasted different. But now he found himself wondering if blood from that vein would taste different than what he collected from the jugular.

  She wrapped her lips around the boy for a brief moment, before she gave him a pouty look and released him. She flicked her tongue down at the base of his penis repeatedly, before she dragged it up the length of him. She was rewarded at the tip with a drop of pre-cum.

  She moaned and Henry wondered if she watched porn to get ideas or if girls naturally knew how to make boys crazy. He’d logged onto a vampire-specific site once. There were videos, articles, and message boards full of curious humans and filthy vampires, as w
ell as a few anonymous vampires who told tall tales of sex leading to death. He’d watched parts and pieces of a few of the videos, but found himself more interested in the articles and illegal retelling of murders. He had been excited during one video when a girl with pale skin and full lips had drawn a hint of blood with her teeth, but the culmination of the session hadn’t done anything for him in the end. That was when he learned he was physically excited by things other than sex, and he began reading true accounts of vampirism instead—leaving porn sites behind for the anonymous message boards of 4chan.

  He looked back to the sex on the field, twisted it to be what excited him, and wondered what the girl’s blood would taste like. He’d only collected from men so far, and felt himself getting aroused at the idea. He watched her swirl her tongue around the head of the boy’s throbbing penis, nonchalantly catching the glistening pre-cum as she went. She pointed her tongue and flicked it at the dimple on the head. Then she flattened her tongue and laved upward, before pointing it again and delving into the slit at the tip.

  The boy groaned loudly. In response, she took him into her mouth as far as she could. The boy’s breathing skipped, and as she slid back off him he pulled her down to the grass. Henry expected him to climb on top of her and ride her as they had in the videos, but he surprised Henry.

  Instead, the boy’s face disappeared between her thighs. She arched her back in response. The boy pulled away, looked at the girl and returned the same wicked smiled she’d given him earlier before delving his tongue into her core.

  The moan that escaped her startled Henry, as did the sensation. He imagined her taste, seasoned with fresh blood.

  After several minutes of his own daydreams overriding their pleasure, talking caused him to blink and focus back on them. Brittany had pushed his head away and he sat up, tilting her head at him like a confused puppy. “Why should you get all the fun?” She leaned forward, more flexible than Henry would have thought, and took him into her mouth again. Her eyes were focused on the cock in front of her. His head was lifted to the night sky but his eyes were closed.

  Neither saw Henry stand up next to the truck.

  As he stepped toward the couple, having decided he wanted to taste the girl, he froze when they changed positions.

  Forcibly pushing Brittany down to the grass, the boy mounted her, declaring an end to foreplay with a grunt, the glint in his eye let her know his hunger had reached its limits. She pulled her legs up along his ribs and wrapped her arms around him, stretching her neck up to find his lips. As the tip of his cock teased her, sliding along her length and spreading her wetness as it moved, Henry slowly approached the unaware couple.

  Their lustful hunger for orgasm had taken over, the boy thrust into her again and again. Her hips rose to meet him, as her lips reached upward to meld and move with his, before gasping and releasing his mouth in order to better control her breathing.

  The hot lights of the football field and the cool night air were forgotten as sweat began to form along their skin, increasing the fluid-like slide of their bodies against each other. The crescendo continued to build as their breathing turned raspy. Her legs wrapped tighter around him as she rode the pleasure toward climax. She opened her eyes, intent on the boy’s face.

  But Henry saw it.

  He watched her catch his blur of movement, as the pipe sliced through the air toward the boy’s head. The boy fell limp, trapping the girl under his body, still connected at the groin. Henry rolled the boy off, as he raised the pipe for a second strike and smiled at the girl. Brittany. The slut he’d seen with so many boys.

  Henry would be the last boy she saw.

  She screamed. Her voice was lost in the acoustics of the field and bleachers, like so many cheering fans on game night. He put the bucket down and swung the pipe hard enough to knock her out. He didn’t need the blow to kill. He knew the blood loss would.

  — SIXTEEN —

  Connor debated the differences between the files and the conversation he’d had with the coroner, both initially and after Rogers had taken time to look back at both cases. The detective talked to himself while he drove, trying to piece together some sort of profile on the killer—under the assumption they were both killed by the same person.

  “Gotta be a guy,” he reasoned, mumbling his assessment no woman would be able to overpower the first one, Winter. He had been a heavyset man who’d once had muscles, but at the time of his death, had been reduced to the forgotten bulk of age.

  “Young. The lower end of the standard twenty-five to forty for serial killers.” He spoke a little louder in the car, chewing over the case and profile as if someone were there with him to bounce his thoughts off. He glanced at the files on the front seat.

  “White. Definitely white. And probably poor. Killing within his own comfort zone.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he thought, pausing at the stop sign. He glanced at the football field as he started to turn the corner away from the park.

  “Oh, Goddamnit.” He hit the brakes and turned the wheel the opposite direction to head for the concession area and the pickup truck there. “Fucking kids.”

  As he approached the field, he gave the siren a flick, long enough for a single WHOOP to get the attention of whoever was in the truck. Pulling up behind the rusted Ford Ranger, he turned his lights on with no noise. Allowing the blue and red to wash over the truck and its interior. He didn’t need to see naked teens, so he gave them a minute.

  When no one sat up, he looked around but saw no signs of movement anywhere outside the vehicle. He stepped out of his squad car and walked cautiously up alongside the truck, peering into the windows with his small but overly bright flashlight. No one. He turned and headed for the concession area. As he approached the overhang of the bleachers, he glanced back at the field.

  “Oh shit.”

  He could see more red than turf in an area under the bright lights of the field. Even several yards away he could tell it was a mess of blood and flesh, clothes and hair. Connor grabbed his cell from his pocket and called for backup. The speed dial he had set up was for the station, not for dispatch, and the night captain picked up.

  “Hey Richard, we got a situation at the ball field. Another death.”

  “Like the other two? Serial?” The night captain was technically a lieutenant, but on the after-hours shift he took on all the duties of a captain, including catching up on all active cases. Lieutenant Richards had literally gone over Connors cases with him no more than ten minutes ago.

  In the background he could hear heckling from several of the night shift cops who were no better than the close-minded assholes he dealt with during the day. “Is that cereal with a C, ’cos they’re eating it?” The snark was called out near Richards and the phone was muffled long enough for him to bark at someone before returning to Connor. “What are you looking at? Transient?”

  “Got a pickup truck, so no. Hang on.”

  Detective Connor looked around for signs of activity, movement, a perp still in the area. Seeing nothing, he made his way toward the bloody swatch of field. As he closed in and the carnage became clearer, he felt the saliva in his mouth grow bitter and he held back a gag threatening to become vomit.

  These are kids. Just kids. They can’t be any older than Tamara. Jesus—

  He looked at the red hair on the girl and swallowed hard. The color had brought the idea of facing his own daughter’s death far too close to the surface, but he could see the girl was actually a blonde. The red wasn’t her hair color, it was the blood—smeared over both their bodies, and spilled into the turf around them.

  “Send an ambulance, body bags, forensics. Wake ’em all up, there’s a mess out here.” He could hear the panic in his voice.

  The lights overhead illuminated the bodies, but he still swung his flashlight over them. It looked like most of the blood had come from t
he boy—lying on his back, staring at the night sky with a caved-in head and a ruined groin. In the chaos of muscle and flesh, Connor could see the kid’s genitals were missing. He glanced at the ground. The blood was fresh. There were no tracks other than humanoid.

  This was quick. In and out and run.

  Eaten? Wild animals usually went for the soft tissue first—eyes, tongue, soft belly flesh that tears easily.

  Unless it was a person.

  There was still steam coming from the gore—too fresh for someone to have sat here for long.

  Connor didn’t believe the missing organs had been eaten on the field, but rather taken. Maybe for food, maybe not. Maybe as a trophy. Either way, they’d been removed cruelly, without skill or discipline, and were likely torn without a sharp object from the tears and destruction he could see in the flesh.

  “Connor?”

  “Yeah, sorry.” He didn’t know how many times the lieutenant had said his name.

  “Is it the same guy?”

  “I… I don’t think so. This is fucking brutal. There are two kids. Hang on…” He knelt by the girl. No, this felt different.

  He scanned the bodies, moving upward. The boy’s groin had taken most of the damage, though a bloodied indent on the side of his head suggested he’d been killed first, rather than bled like the victims in his files.

  The girl’s skirt was pushed up to her waist. Her genitals were equally shredded, but there were also bite marks in the flesh of her upper thigh. Humanoid, not animal. The girl’s shirt was torn in a manner that made it hard to tell if its removal had been during coitus, or in the mayhem of her murder. He saw more bite marks in the flesh on and near her left breast. Some were clean, as if the attacker had clamped down, biting hard enough to leave an impression and break the skin, but without doing too much damage. Others were torn, as if the bite was only to get a grip on the flesh in order to pull it away. Blood had dripped and dried at each of the attack sites—the bites on her breast, at a similar but less brutal bash to her head from what appeared to be the same weapon used on the boy, smeared around her torn vaginal flesh, and—