Chapter Three
“So how are classes going?” I asked, trying to pull the conversation away from my crazy relatives.
He shrugged before putting a bite into his mouth. “Good enough. Lots to grade,” he added when he realized I was waiting for more of an answer.
“Covering anything interesting?”
“Not really. Hunter-gatherers. Most boring subject to teach. I could do the whole course in thirty seconds—some hunt some gather. There, the end.” Isaac shoveled another bite of salad into his mouth.
I smiled. It was the longest speech he'd ever offered me.
The conversation, if you can call it that, continued for another half hour. I was almost relieved when we didn't order dessert. I felt dissatisfied when he finally signed the receipt. He just didn't really share, and I wanted to know more about him. I wondered what made him tick, why he chose to be a teacher, who cut his hair—anything!
It was hard not to wonder if he found me intellectually beneath him. After all, he had a Ph.D., I had barely finished high school. Were we simply too different?
We exited the restaurant into a sizeable gale. The wind blew into our faces, driving the rain at an unnatural angle. I'd forgotten to grab a jacket. Okay, forgotten isn't quite the word I'd use: Chose not to might be a bit more accurate.
Aside from my bulky winter jacket, left over from high school and only worn when it was below zero, my only coat was a worn leather number, and which would have clashed hideously with my little black dress. Coatless was the only fashion choice available to me tonight.
We scurried to his car and hopped in. I was already drenched. Typically, Washington skies drizzle rather than pour. Granted, they do it without any sign of stopping for days on end, but today was apparently special. I laughed, but Isaac took on a suddenly serious look. I didn't know what he could be thinking.
On the drive home I had hopes that maybe, for a change, Isaac would come up to my apartment. I didn't really have anything to offer him to drink, though, as Jordan had taken my last soda. I tried to tone down my frivolity, but the closer we got the more excited I grew. Butterflies began doing little flips in my stomach. Whatever had suddenly changed his mood was big. I could tell that much. By the time we reached my apartment on the outskirts of downtown Olympia, the rain had let up.
Isaac parked around the corner from the entrance to the complex. When we got out, I immediately headed for my place. It may not have been actively raining, but that didn't mean it was dry either. Before I'd taken more than a step, Isaac was at my side, his hand gripping my arm too tightly. Panic shot through me. First of all, how did he get to my side of the car so fast, and secondly, why was he holding on to me?
I tried to pull my arm free, but his grip hardened. My eyes widened in instinctual fright. He spun me around until my back rested against his chest, and a hand clamped over my mouth. I suddenly realized I could have been screaming this whole time! He jerked me back into an alley just as the rain picked up. Was he really attacking me? This was Isaac after all—the gentleman. My brain said no, but the panic, making my heart beat faster and my limbs tingle, said yes. When we reached the darker shadows of the alley, I realized this was very real.
Now, I don't know a lot about self-defense, but I do know all guys have one extremely sensitive area. I tried to kick it with my heels. Not an easy task when someone is dragging you away with what felt like inhuman strength. What little part of my brain was working realized that Isaac would naturally seem much stronger. He pushed me up against the wall of what I thought to be the dry cleaners, though I was a little turned around. Can you blame me?
My eyes widened when he took his left hand off of me and bit into his own wrist.
What the hell? I thought at the time and tried to use that moment to pull free, but found that he was too fast and way too strong. He had me pinned against the wall again before I had taken two steps. Using his hip to hold me against the wall, he pried my mouth open with his free hands and filled it with his bleeding wrist. I gagged and sputtered, trying not to swallow. When he ran out of patience, he plugged my nose and tipped my head back. I couldn't help but swallow; if I didn't I was going to suffocate.
People always say blood is like sucking on a penny. I don't know what they're talking about; it's warm, sticky, and damn nasty! After a few swallows, he pulled his wrist away. Tears began to stream down my face, mixing with the rain and Isaac’s blood that now covered my chin and neck. What was going on? Again, I tried to scurry away, but it was no use: he was just too strong. I had always known Isaac worked out, but in this moment he seemed beyond human. Or maybe the whole drinking blood thing had me freaked out.
Some people define fear as a stimulus that aids in an animal's—or human's—survival instinct. Of course, when you experience it, such a definition falls short. On the other hand, the Bible says to only “fear Him who, after your body has been killed, has authority to throw you into hell.” No offense to Luke, but when you're faced with death, you're too busy fearing your killer to think beyond that. Neither the Bible nor the dictionary could describe what I felt as Isaac bent over my wet shoulder and bit into my neck.
Wait, what? He bit me? Yes, oh yes, he bit me. My mind raced wildly as the unnatural happened right there in the alley. Was his gentleman façade meant to cover up a serial killer? Was he trying to emulate my books? Did that even happen?
A piercing pain shot through my neck, down my shoulder, and out my fingertips, breaking off my brief train of thought. I began to scream, but that just reminded him to recover my mouth with his free hand. The pain increased as he readjusted his bite.
What? Once wasn't enough? Fire shot through the two bite locations as his teeth dug deeper. Were human teeth always this sharp?
If I live through this, Jordan is never going to let me forget it, I thought absently as I wiggled against his painful grasp. My energy quickly began to fade. I started to feel cold and sleepy. I kept trying to push him away. I wasn't the type to just give up, but my shoves were getting pathetic. Even in my hazy frame of mind, I knew there was no hope. My limbs started to feel like they were made of overcooked spaghetti. With the last of my strength, I tried to shove his head away. When that failed, I slumped against his solid body. Fade to black.