It was the smell that hit me first and it was enough to make me shrink back against the wall with my hand clutched over my nose, fighting the urge to gag as bile swamped my throat in thick acrid waves.
It was animal. The pure, heavy scent of many beasts, like the thick cloying stench of sweat and urine and something else, something that made my nose wrinkle in repulsion and I knew it was her I could smell. And not just her, but the foul taste of her arousal in the air and it was so strong that for a moment, I thought she must be here somewhere, maybe curled up in my bed, her hair draped over my pillow and sheets bunched up between her thighs. But it was not her; just her smell and it seemed to shroud this place, covering every surface as if she had writhed everywhere and not just with Brandon, but the others too. I could smell them all and suffered images of them all here together, taking their female again and again in my home, on the furniture I had chosen and the sheets that I had bought.
Trying to recover a sense of control over the nausea that was creeping towards the surface, I reached and pulled the door shut quickly, the sound of the latch clicking into place echoing through the house. With my back pressed against the door, I waited, straining to listen and hearing nothing but torturous unnatural silence resounding back at me.
Get in, do what you have to do and get out.
Garrick's voice whispered in my ear and I took a big gulp of air and pulled back my hood, glancing warily around the hallway as if it were the first time I had ever stepped foot inside these walls. Everything felt alien and yet somewhere in the back of my mind, objects seemed strangely familiar. The pictures that hung on the walls. Carpets that I had once trod upon with bare feet, revelling in the feel of the thick pile between my toes. The large mosaic effect vase that sat on the table in the hall, that was once always filled with large bouquets of yellow lilies but was now empty with the remnants of dark pollen stained around the rim. I stepped forward, my legs trembling and my breath caught in my throat. And the further away from the door I got, the harder it felt to breathe as I felt myself become entwined in this place which had once been my own and was now their lair.
The pains thundered down my back, making me wince with every step as I fought desperately to control the fear that was gripping me and threatening to cripple my body. I shouldn't be here. I knew it. I could feel it. I was an imposter. But instead of being the dark stranger breaking into somebody's home spreading fear and terror, it was I who was in danger.
The lounge was dark except for the blue flashes coming from the fifty inch television screen set on the wall above the fireplace. The sound had been muted, clearly by Dan having heard the disturbance outside but the screen continued to spew out images across the room. I stared at the large corner sofa, with its cushions strewn about and one of Clara's dresses tossed casually across the back. I saw them here, wrapped in each other's arms with Clara bent over the arm of the chair, sweating out onto the soft leather. Leaning against the doorway, I moaned in pain and thrust my fist into my mouth, biting down on my knuckles to pacify my agony.
Staggering against the wall, I carried on down the hall, staring wildly into the kitchen, brightly lit with the harsh halogen light bulbs, the darkness of the garden pressing against a the patio windows. I daren't enter that room, with its exposed glass that allowed anyone to look in and see who might dare to trespass in the Varúlfur's den.
I looked back down the hallway towards the door and I just wanted to run, to flee, to rid myself of the fear and pain and just keep running, running away from this nightmare and this sick feeling that seemed to rage through my veins like the blackest of plagues. Closing my eyes, I concentrated on breathing in and out very slowly and it was then I heard them, just whispers at first, their tortured cries soon building into terrified screams that made me clap my hands over my ears as if that would banish them, only I knew it wouldn't. I couldn't muffle these cries, because the shrieking was in my head and engrained in my bones, a permanent reminder of why I was here. The ghosts of the hospital asylum were here with me and my eyes flickered open as they whirled around me and in me, spurring me on, forcing my legs to move except not towards the door, but towards the stairs instead.
I curled my fingers around the banister post and looked up the staircase, the darkness crept around the landing, spreading out across the ceiling above but I wasn't scared of the dark. It was what I might find in the dark that scared me. Secrets. Nasty things. I bit my lip, breaking the skin and tasting the sweet coppery sense of my own blood.
At the top of the stairs, I gritted my teeth and headed in the direction of Brandon's office. The spare room. The nursery, I thought as I pushed open the door, revealing Brandon's inner sanctum, his little haven of solitude. I grinned as I stepped one foot inside, feeling this rebellious fuck-you streak sweeping through me as I spied his black lacquered bookcases filled with books he never read, reams of encyclopedias that only sat on these shelves because he thought they looked good or gave him an air of intelligence. He was intelligent, actually. In fact, I knew he was a damn good lawyer but I also knew these books were here for effect more than anything. Just another decorative lie.
The filing cabinet caught my eye and I pulled on the drawers, finding nothing but household paperwork. Utility bills, insurance documents, mortgage paperwork. Boring, boring, boring. I went through each drawer in turn, tugging out files and shoving them back in when each appeared to be nothing but normal everyday stuff. I noted however that Brandon hadn't carried out any filing recently as everything was dated before my death.
"Tsk, tsk, darling," I breathed. "You're slacking."
The air in here was rich with his smell and not just his true smell, but his aftershave, his cigarettes and the musky scent of his skin. I sniffed and rubbed the back of my hand across my mouth as I sat down on his large leather desk chair and eyed the computer warily. Touching my fingers to the mouse, the screen flickered into life and the login screen appeared taunting me. I hissed a curse and let my hands hover over the keyboard, hesitating as I mulled over possible passwords.
Brandon.
Well, it wouldn't have surprised me if the arrogant bastard had used his own name.
Clara.
Nothing. And I can't say my mouth didn't curl up at the corners knowing she wasn't his password.
Walter. Noble.
The screen was immobile. Frozen. I sighed in frustration and swivelled in the chair impatiently. Everything I tried failed to unlock the computer.
By the side of the screen, a picture frame lay on its front. Reaching over, I picked it up, running my fingertips over the glass and noting the empty space underneath that once contained our honeymoon picture. Sun and sea. Smiles and lies.
Frowning, I tapped my fingers on the keypad again.
Megan.
The login screen disappeared and I was confronted by Brandon's desktop, a hundred icons confusing me and covering up the wallpaper which was the scanned image of us again and that damned perfect beach. My eyes flitted over the screen, trying to filter out stuff that meant nothing; his games files, Word, Excel and PowerPoint programs, his photo gallery. I spied one called W&N and I opened it up and breathed a sigh of relief when I realised it wasn't guarded by yet another password. I scrolled through each yellow folder until I came across one that I recognised, a name that Garrick had told me to look out for. Opening it up, I scanned the contents, smiling wickedly as I found what Garrick wanted and pushed the USB stick he had given me into the spare port and clicked to download.
Returning to the files, I found an address book which seemed mostly to consist of client addresses but nothing that might pertain to the Varúlfur compound. I clicked my tongue against my teeth, feeling that nagging urging sensation across my shoulder blades. I needed to get out. I had already been here too long. I knew Sergio and Page would lead Daniel a merry path, but who knew when he might decide it was a fruitless endeavour and return home.
I saved anything that I thought Garrick might find useful, but if anything concerning the compound was on here, I didn't know where the hell it would be. I cursed myself for ever thinking Brandon might be so stupid to have the address saved on the computer for anyone to find. Client information was one thing, but details of their most secret lair was another thing entirely. However the more I lingered staring at the desktop wallpaper, I couldn't shake the feeling I had missed something. Chewing on my lower lip thoughtfully, I hovered the mouse icon over the photo gallery, wondering if my resolve could manage image after image of Brandon and I locked together in wedded bliss.
Screw it, I thought. I needed to see it. I needed to feel the pain.
Double clicking on the file, it sprang to life on the screen, again more yellow files all dated. I opened up one date I knew all too well. Our honeymoon. White beaches. Glorious sunshine. A sneaky topless shot I remembered Brandon taking in the hotel suite as I got changed. I had scowled at him, which had been followed by laughter and wrestling half naked on the king size bed, my legs wrapped around his thighs and fingers entwined in his curls. A selfie shot of us both together; heads touching on the pillow, hair messed up in post-coital bliss. Me walking on the beach, sandals in hand and bare feet wading through the water. Us at dinner time, tea lights sparkling all around us like fireflies, Brandon's arm wrapped firmly around my shoulder and both grinning for the camera.
I opened another file. And another and another. Photos taken when we moved in, me with paint brush in hand, up a ladder in the shortest of denim shorts and paint splattered vest top. Brandon making tea in our new kitchen, smiling brashly. A photo of us together, dressed up for a night out at one of his favourite restaurants. Him in his favourite Hugo Boss suit. Me in a dress he had bought for me. It went on and on. Him and me. Me and him. I felt a small tear trickle down my cheek and I wiped it away angrily and closing the folder, I noticed another one with a different date, one that made me sit up straight in the chair.
It was a weekend date. And one I remembered well as Brandon hadn't been here. It had been my birthday and I'd spent the weekend alternately sobbing into a glass of wine and sleeping off the booze. I have to go Megs, it's the annual conference, I can't get out of it. I sneered at the screen. Annual conference my arse, I thought and clicked on the folder.
I gasped and stood up, sending the chair flying back across the room, where it clattered against a bookcase, sending some picture frames crashing to the floor, the glass shattering on impact. These were no happy family snaps. Photos taken in dimly lit rooms but I could clearly see what I needed to. Bodies, half dressed, some completely naked. All of them together, Brandon and his workmates, with her. Writhing, falling all over each other. Clara with her legs wrapped around Brandon, his face pressed into her neck. Flashes of sweat drenched skin as he bore down upon her. Dan and Clara embracing, his hands on her breasts and her tongue entwined with his. I recognised others in the pictures, all part of Brandon's group of close friends, all work colleagues; all Varúlfur.
And then another picture. A girl. I didn't recognise her but somehow I knew what she was. She was like me. And she was frightened, terrified. Tied to a chair and naked, a large burn mark down one side of her torso that I knew was a sun burn as if she had been half-thrust into daylight and tortured. I could see dark figures standing behind her, but couldn't identify any of them, they were just giant wraiths crowding around, watching.
There were more like this. Awful, gut-wrenching pictures showing nothing but fear and pain, terrible nightmarish pain that made me whimper. And then, the girl slumped in the chair with blood pouring from a great wound in her stomach, pieces of flesh torn and hanging from her body. Decimated. Used-up. Another vampire dead and screaming. This wasn't a hunt. This was torture and murder. Nothing less.
I was about done with this gallery of horrors when one final picture caught my eye. A group picture, but not like the previous group pictures. This one was all of them standing outside a large house. No, in fact, it was a huge house. A manor house. They were all grinning, posing in the daylight, with the ostentatious backdrop behind them. To one side I spied a large Victorian greenhouse, its emerald tinted glass and curved ceiling unmistakable. I knew this place. I knew where the compound was.
Clicking on the save button again, I stared wildly at the screen and at their happy smiling faces, Clara slap bang in the centre with Brandon and Dan on either side and the recognisable faces of Walter and Noble themselves, tucked in behind them all.
One big happy family.