Ultimate Supernatural Horror Box Set

CHAPTER TWENTY

An Unpleasant Conversation

And, just like that, Michele was screwed again.

Honestly, it wasn’t all that surprising that Ivan had snatched her, but she would have expected it to be when she was being stupid and hanging around the tavern, not when she was being smart and going to the hospital.

They’d been driving for a few minutes. Ivan hadn’t said anything, though she caught him glancing at her in the rear-view mirror several times, and she made no effort to start a conversation. Thus far she’d successfully forced herself not to cry. He could carve the entire Bible into her skin before she’d give him the satisfaction of watching her cry.

She wouldn’t beg, either.

There was nothing she could do about the trembling, though.

God, she was scared. She didn’t want to die. She considered lying and telling him that she was pregnant, to see if she could appeal to some tiny shred of goodness, but she didn’t think he had any. He’d probably love it if he thought she was pregnant. She could just hear him: “Oooooh, then I’d better save your belly for last!”

She adjusted her position. Her only solace was that he’d have to open the cage to kill her, at least if he wanted to do it with his teeth and claws, and she’d have an opportunity to escape.

“How are you holding up?” he finally asked.

“I’ll be honest with you: not so well.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. You can still talk, can’t you? A lot of my prey gets so scared they can’t even do that.”

“Then I’m honored.”

“You should be. Mute people just aren’t much fun.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Do you think I should?”

“No.”

“Why not? Appeal to my sense of reason.”

“I never did anything to you. I tried to help you.”

“I don’t recall that.”

“I guess I was being too subtle, then. We were both victims.”

“Correction. I was no victim. I had George and Lou exactly where I wanted them the entire time. There’s evidence of this back at the tavern we just left. How many people do you think I killed? Guess.”

“Six.”

“Higher.”

“Twelve.”

“Lower.”

“Ten.”

“Lower.”

“Nine.”

“This is going to take all night,” said Ivan. “I killed seven people. Murdered two people earlier today, for a twenty-four hour total of nine so far. Messed Lou up in a big way. Shredded two cops. Got a lady shot. Let two people go on purpose, and believe me, that’s the only reason they’re not dead.”

“What about George?”

“I didn’t kill him yet.”

“Why not?”

“He comes later. Got to save the good stuff. Are you impressed by the seven people I killed at the tavern?”

“Sure.”

“I think you’re just humoring me. I’ll bet you’ve never killed nine human beings in a day. I bet you haven’t even killed two. Am I right?”

“You’re right.”

“You know what sucks about the number nine? It’s not a monumental number. Nobody celebrates the ninth anniversary of something. It’s all about those nice round numbers. That’s what people like. If I went around telling everybody that my body count for today was nine, they’d be amazed by my awesomeness, of course, but they’d feel that something was missing. It just wasn’t quite at the next level. You can’t really have a party for nine. Do you see what I’m saying? Can you think of any possible way for me to fix my little quandary with the whole number thing?”

“Just lie and say you killed ten.”

“Hmmmm. I never thought about that. I hate to be deceptive, though. There has to be a better way. Thinking...thinking...thinking...”

“Do you really want people to know about your feat?”

“I like that you called it a feat. I figured you’d feel a little more revulsion than that.”

Michele ignored him and tried to steer the conversation back toward reasons he shouldn’t kill her. “I could have run away. They let me go.”

“You did run away. I found you at the hospital.”

“I had a chance before that. I stuck around because I want to tell this story.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.”

“So, what, you want to write The Dastardly Deeds of Ivan the Werewolf?”

“Something like that.”

“Or maybe Interview With a Werewolf. Let Anne Rice sue.”

“If you let me go, I’ll make you famous.”

“If I wanted to be famous, I’d walk onto Oprah’s set and transform in front of her cameras. Then I’d rip out her throat. I appreciate your efforts, Michele, but there’s really not much you can offer me.”

“I disagree.”

Ivan smiled. “Well, I mean, there’s that. You like it wolfy style?”

Michele felt the blood drain from her face, but tried to keep her voice steady. “Why are your aspirations so low?”

“What do you mean?”

“You have this incredible power, something that’s so amazing that nobody who hadn’t seen it for themselves would ever believe it could be true, and yet you just use it to kill people.”

“Killing people is fun. It’s better than not killing people, I’ll tell you that.”

“There’s so much more you could do.”

“Like what? Bring canned food to homeless people? Teach our children about the wonders of volcanoes?”

“You could be a superstar celebrity. How much earning potential do you think a werewolf in the public eye could have?”

“A lot, until somebody put a silver bullet in his heart.”

“There are plenty of rich celebrities who a lot of people want to assassinate and they do just fine. With that much money, you could keep yourself safe.”

“I’ve got it! Maybe I could be a superhero!”

“Maybe you could.”

“I could be Werewolf Man, and I’d go around biting evildoers. I could wear a furry cape with a big W on it. Oh, man, I never even dreamed I had so much untapped potential. You’ve opened up a whole new world for me. How can I ever repay you?”

“I’m serious, Ivan.”

“Are you trying to become my manager or something?”

“Maybe.”

“I think you’re talking just to keep yourself alive. I think you’re too adorable and innocent to actually want to go into business with a big bad werewolf, who would probably ruin all of his promo ops by going on bloody rampages.”

“That’s not true.”

“You’re certainly an opportunist. I admire that. But, again, let’s say for the sake of argument that I was interested in your idea. Maybe I looked in the mirror one day and said ‘Golly, I’ve devoted my whole life to evil. How shameful. Woe is me for my poor decisions. I must balance out all of the death and destruction by doing good deeds.’“

“I didn’t say they had to be good deeds.”

“You mean I should become a supervillain? Now that might be cool.”

“You’re not taking me seriously.”

“What’s a good name for a werewolf supervillain?”

“Ivan...”

“What about Wolf Killer? No, wait, that sounds like I’m killing wolves. Death Wolf. Blood Wolf. Ghost Wolf. I’m not really a ghost, but that sounds kind of scary, doesn’t it? Beware the evil done by the Ghost Wolf. Oh, hell yeah.”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“No, but thanks. You really aren’t very good at trying to negotiate yourself out of death. The only thing I might need you for is a sweet piece of ass.”

“If you try it, I’ll rip your dick off.”

“There’s no need to be crude. You could have just said ‘penis.’“

“I’m serious.”

“Are you? Do you really think that I’m afraid of you? With all the people I’ve slaughtered today, you expect me to be worried about you injuring my wee-wee?”

“If it gets anywhere near me, you’ll lose it. I promise you that.”

“See, now, you almost had me convinced to go along with your idea about cashing in on my werewolf fame, but then you had to go and threaten my genitalia. Rude, rude, rude. And yet, strangely arousing.”

“Try it and see what happens.”

Ivan laughed. “Relax, sweetheart. There’ll be no sexual violence tonight. I’m not the kind of guy who needs to take it by force, if you know what I mean and I think you do. I am going to murder you, though.”

Michele clenched her fists. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry...

“Nothing to say to that? Surprising. Do you want to know how it’s going to happen?”

“Okay.”

“I love how you tried to sound brave when you said that. Here’s the plan: I’m going to pull this van over to someplace nice and secluded. I’m going to search through the radio stations until I find some appropriate mood music--hopefully they’ve got a jazz station around here, but if not, we might go for some classic rock. Then I’m going to walk back there, open the van doors, and then I’m going to stand there and stare at you. You know that creepy feeling you get when somebody is just staring at you, where your skin crawls and you can’t concentrate on anything else? You’ll have that, except you’ll know that as soon as I’m done staring at you, I’m going to kill you. I might stare at you for a minute, I might stare for an hour, but when it’s over, I’m going to very slowly unlock the cage.”

“You’re making a big mistake.”

“No, I think I’m making a wise decision. Don’t interrupt my scenario. After I open the cage, I’m going to--”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“I don’t care what you want to hear, little lady. You’re going to hear what I want you to hear, and I want you to hear about your upcoming horrible death. If you want to put your hands over your ears and go ‘la la la la la’ there’s not much I can do, but it would be kind of childish.”

“There’s no reason to kill me.”

“I want to. That’s a pretty good reason. I mean, if you really think about it, there’s no reason to eat a great big chocolate chip cookie dunked in a glass of cold milk, but it’s something you’d want to be doing right now, isn’t it? You’re my cookie. That’s what I’ll call you from now on. How’s it going, Cookie?”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, see, now you’re just resorting to expletives. Not cool, Cookie. I guess that means you’re done trying to have an intelligent conversation, which in turn means that it’s time for you to die. Oh well.”

They drove in silence for a few more minutes. At one point Michele had to choke down some vomit, but she still didn’t cry. She refused to cry.

Ivan stopped the van and shut off the engine. “Here we are. Looks like you’ll be dying in...actually, I don’t know the name of this place. It’ll be in the obituary, though. Your family will know.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“That’s already been well established. You’re not bringing anything new to the table. Offer me something better than the lame observation that I have a choice in the matter. Come on, offer something now. You’ve got ten seconds. Nine...eight...seven...”

“I can bring you George and Lou.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Yes, I can.”

“Did you bond with them? Got some of that Stockholm syndrome going on, huh? Sorry, Michele--I mean, Cookie--but I feel like I have no other choice but to messily kill you.”

Michele’s mind raced as she tried to think of something to offer him. But she just couldn’t concentrate. She was going to die. Oh, God, she was going to die.

Ivan got out of the van. A moment later he opened the back doors. “Miss me?”

Michele scooted to the back of the cage.

“Don’t do that. I’ll think you don’t trust me.” Ivan grinned. He ran a hand through his blood-slicked hair. “How does it feel to know that you only have minutes to live? Wait, don’t answer that, let me guess...it feels like...wait, I can get this...it feels bad! Am I right? Do I win?”

Michele didn’t respond. If he opened the cage, she’d attack him like a wild animal. She’d probably lose the fight, but she’d go for his eyes with her fingernails and put up a hell of a struggle.

Ivan’s grin faded. “You know, I like to joke around a lot, but when it comes right down to it, I’m a pretty serious guy. So let me present you with your options, and I’d like you to truly focus on which one you prefer. The first option is to let me come into that cage after you, at which point I will transform into a wolfman, pin you down, and ruin you.” He paused, presumably to let that sink in. “In the second option, I won’t kill you at all.”

“What do I have to do?”

“Just give me your hand.”

“No.”

“No? I just offered you the chance to stay alive. Don’t dismiss it so quickly.”

“What are you going to do?”

“It’s a surprise. Give me your hand.”

Michele shook her head.

“When I said that I was going to ruin you, I didn’t mean that in a ‘put you out of your misery’ way. You will die worse than anybody you’ve ever read about. You’ll be wishing that all I was doing was ripping out your fingernails with my teeth. We are talking about a level of agony that people base religions on. Is that your choice? Because it seems like a bad one.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry...

“You really should give me your hand.”

“Come in here and get it.”

“So let me get this straight. You are choosing a horrible, bloody death where your body parts will be scattered for miles over the option where you live?”

“I’m not giving you my hand.”

“I’m not going to keep it! Jeez. Okay, I’m going to do something that I never do. I solemnly swear that if you give me your hand, I will not kill you. Not tonight, not ever. That’s a promise.”

Visions of being chained in his basement as a torture slave for the rest of her life flashed through Michele’s mind. “I don’t believe you.”

“Do you believe me about the horrible bloody death part?”

Michele hesitated. “Yes.”

“The ‘let you live’ part is just as true. I think you should trust me on this one. I’m not sure I can emphasize enough how much better of a deal option two would be for you. Give me your hand.”

Michele really did not want to do this...but for some freaky, messed-up reason, she believed Ivan when he said that he wouldn’t kill her. Whatever he did to her would be awful, there was no question about that, but she could either trust him or hope that she could beat him when he crawled into the cage.

Better to trust him.

She scooted to the front of the cage.

“You’re making a good choice.”

Michele took a moment to work up her courage, then slid her right hand through the bars.

Ivan took it.