"Why," she sobbed, "won't you let me go?" It was more of a moan now. And a chore. She knew Diego wouldn't reply, but it seemed like the thing to ask, regardless. She'd been here so long, without much food or water, and she was so drained, both figuratively and literally.
Diego smiled, he would finally get a little peace now that she had broken. He hated the noises they made, but such is the price you pay when you need - well, not need, but strongly prefer - your dinner to be alive and awake when you feed from them. Concentrating, his undead hand skillfully, unwaveringly lowering a bed into the captain's quarters.
He figured he should reward this more pleasantly quiet, restrained behavior, and responded, "Because you'll go tell everyone in the village who I am, and it won't be long until a mob shows up with torches and pitchforks." Her eyes widened a moment and she turned her head to see if someone else had entered the room. It took her a few moments to process that it was the vampire that had spoken, and a few moments more to process precisely what it was that he had said.
"Oh, I won't tell anyone," she whimpered, calming suddenly, wiping some of the tears and sweat of her face against her bare shoulder. She hated it, but she found his voice to be relaxing, like when her father used to lull her to sleep at night with a storybook. "Not that anyone would believe me."
"That's certainly true," he agreed, as he began to cut away at the excess glue, ever so slightly with a long, slender needle-like tool.
"Why did you choose me?" she asked, no longer afraid. She was beyond fear. The body can only withstand so much fear. So much sadness and helplessness, before it hits it's maximum endorphin capacity and gives up. The brain usually follows. She wasn't giving up, exactly. She had simply reached her limit. Once you have that many hormones coursing through your veins, your brain provides ample pleasure reward for relaxing and accepting your situation.
"You are brunette," he said as he selected the next piece for his ship, The Seahorse, a model of a real British Royal Navy Corvette that he himself helped construct in 1693, over 400 years ago. Well, the living version of himself did anyway, according to his journals. Before he turned.
She laughed, and he smiled, knowing she was not totally herself, and not taking his eyes off of his ship. "Seriously, because I'm brunette?" she asked, trying - without success - to compose herself.
"I usually select my prey from brunette women. It is simply a preference. There is no particular reason. You all taste roughly the same."
"So if I had bleached my hair on Wednesday-" she started, a flicker of wonder in her eyes - wonder at the sheer improbability of it all.
"You would not be chained to my slab. That is correct," he finished for her and she was awed that this was her end. It no longer scared her, but provided her with an immense sense of curiosity. "I imagine what you feel now to be akin to the feelings of a gazelle as it is dined upon by the lion."
She managed to summon a small spark of defiance. "You bastard! Don't act like this is somehow natural or dignified." She attempted to spit at him, but found her saliva to be dried, thick, and sticky. And so it came out as a long, connected string of drool that ended up sticking across her chin and neck.
"It could be worse. I could have taken your life, and left your body in a dumpster somewhere," he pointed out. That was true. She was grateful that he hadn't. She couldn't show it, but as he suspected it stopped her comments for a while. Fortunately for Diego, she eventually passed out from exhaustion before she could dream up any more annoying questions.
* * * * *
As the Sky turned from a deep navy blue to a rich indigo-black, Diego rose from his coffin in the cellar to find the woman had somehow unlocked her shackles. His temper flared, and with supernatural speed he rushed up the stairs and out the front door of the old colonial mansion. After a few moments he picked up her tracks, and rushed through the woods after her. Somehow she knew exactly where to head to get to the road. But Diego took hope in the fact that her tracks were fresh.
He arrived at the farm-to-market highway and she stood there, wearing the simple clothes she had on when he had abducted her, and she waved a hand at him, having been ready for him to emerge from the cellar. "Not a step further!" She shouted in the firmest voice she could manage. It was clear to him that the cardboard box she was holding was weighing her down considerably, despite the fact that he was nearly blinded by the light of the cell phone she was shining in his direction.
"And why should I humor you?" he snarled at her, his fangs beginning to emerge prominently and his voice beginning to take an unnatural quality as his thirst grew.
"Because I've got about 8 ships in this box that are going to capsize if you do!"
If he had a working heart, it would have sank in that moment. If it pumped blood through his veins it would have skipped a beat. If he could experience fear, this would be it. As it was, however, he groaned, his protruding fangs fading back into his upper incisors. He was at an impasse.
"I'm going to get into a car, and then you can have these back. I will leave them on the ground for you. If you come toward me, I will destroy them. Do you understand?"
Diego nodded.
"Good."
"Do not harm them!" he shouted, and his voice faltered. It was almost a cry. True to his word, when her ride emerged from the distance, he stood still and watched as she eased the box onto the ground. The small sedan peeled out down the highway, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he got to the box and found them all there, undamaged, along with a note, which read, If you have not relocated by the time I return, I will evict you with torches and pitchforks. He frowned deeply, and went back inside to start planning the move.
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