The Darkness and the Night 2: Cosmic Orgasm

Billy was voracious, driving into Karen desperately and greedily. She met him with equal intensity, and their bodies moved together fervently, the feel of the other rich and fulfilling. They stared into one another's eyes, watching the pleasure building between them, and then suddenly his hands gripped tightly around her waist. Abruptly, he moved her onto her stomach. She rose to meet him as he arched over her body and plunged back into her. Her breath escaped her as immediately his movements went quick and hungry, and she moaned lightly as she angled his long, hard cock deep into her. Her body rolled into his, her excitement building even quicker, and she spread her legs just slightly wider, taking him in even deeper. She cried out as the ecstasy burst deep inside her, electrifying her body and petrifying her limbs. "Don't stop!" she cried, knowing that she might wake at any time. The day had been short, and soon this would be just a vague memory in the back of her cloudy mind. They both reveled in the moment, taking in as much of the other as they could, while they could. Nightfall was on its way. Billy's spirit had become trapped in the Astral plane, due to his unique and unnatural nature physical death. He maintained their connection through her dreams, pulling her into the Astral whenever she slept. She waited each day for sleep to come so she could take refuge in his arms a while longer, forgetting the hell her physical world had become. He promised her that he would find a way for them to be together again, that he would find a way to return to her. She took solace in believing him. Until then, they agreed that they would make the most of each day they had together, regardless of their individual confines. In a candle-lit room of Billy's design, Karen knelt on the soft bed. They thrust and pulled into the other, feeling as one, and Karen moaned and squealed, her climax waning and waxing, as Billy prepared to come. She felt weak an shaky, continuing to revel in his feel as he held into her, his arm holding her close to him. Karen's body trembled as she pressed hard against him, taking in small, lingering waves of pleasure as he finished. He collapsed over her, and then pulled her close as he lay beside her. Karen turned to face him, and offered him a quick kiss. She moved to his neck, wondering if he had the energy to feed her, getting her answer when he shrugged her off. She felt the change in the air as the sun waned over the distant horizon, and she stared into Billy's eyes as his world began to fade. They held their bodies tightly together as they fell into the depths of Karen's mind. Karen woke, sitting up with a startled gasp, her mood immediately going foul. The tormented cries of the insane and the forgotten echoed down the hall. The tiny, padded room was never dark, a bright light shining in through the small slit in the door, flickering with the same annoying intensity whether it was day or night. Karen stared ahead blankly, examining wrinkles and shadows in the white padding, imperfections she couldn't help but follow with her eyes. She had only been there for a week, and already it seemed she had memorized every detail of every wall. The boredom was maddening. The hunger now stabbing relentlessly at the pit of her stomach was far worse. Despite the doctors' insistence that she was the victim of some strange viral illness, Karen knew that she didn't belong in a hospital, let alone a psychiatric ward. She was not simply another crazy human suffering from bloodlust or some other ridiculous delusion. She was no longer human. There was no denying it. She had seen and experienced far too much for anyone to convince her otherwise. Less than four months ago, Karen was a new college graduate, ready to begin her career as a writer. After agreeing to meet her parents and younger brother at the family's old summer home, both to patch strained ties and to enjoy one last vacation at the rustic old Victorian property, Karen found herself alone in a desolate patch of rural California, when her family called to report a travel delay. That night, she became an unwitting pawn in a convoluted plot of revenge and retribution against her mentally unstable father. Mark, Billy's father, intended to present her father, the newly psychologically rehabilitated vampire hunter with his freshly turned daughter, and then see which one survived. Karen questioned her own sanity when she became learned of the plan. Karen tried to warn her family, when they finally did arrive, nearly succumbing to sun poisoning in the process. She'd exposed herself to less than a minute of full sunlight, but the toll it took on her body was immense. Her father turned on her, despite her attempt to spare the rest of the family her plight, and she abandoned her family to an unknown fate. Within a matter of days, she gave in to the hunger for the first time and killed a man. Distraught with what she had become, and determined to settle a score of her own, she embarked on a virtual odyssey, hitchhiking across the California coast in search of Billy, the vampire who had turned her. Their blood exchange had left the two with a connection that neither of them had been prepared for, however, and upon their reunion Karen and Billy mutually agreed that they had fallen in love. They had shared only a short time enjoying the bliss of one another's company before Billy lost his life over a grievance with the leader of a secretive vampire commune. With the sudden loss, Karen mourned, feeling as though part of herself had somehow vanished. Now, pregnant with fraternal twins, that was all that she had left of him. Then the dreams began. The dreams were a pleasant escape, but there was no escaping reality forever. She was in a hospital, in a padded room, and as far as the rest of the world was concerned, she was just another deluded psychopath. The hallway quieted down, but only for a moment, when a young man only a few doors down began to cry incessantly for a doctor. "Please! They're coming to get me! They know I'm here!" The fear in his voice was very real, although it was evident that the man was out of his mind. "You have to help me!" he continued. Karen considered yelling back at him, telling him that there was no possible way anyone, except maybe a dreamwalker, could "get" him where he was. Still, she realized that his fears were real to him, and simple, empty reassurances would be as useless to him as the doctors' reassurances had been to her. Karen suddenly couldn't help but wonder how different she really was from everyone else there. Did all of their delusions feel just as real to them? How much further from reality were the minds to all of those other screaming voices? All of them sounded so utterly desperate to be heard . . . desperate for someone, anyone, to believe them when they did their best to paint their crazy little worlds. Was there truly a difference between their twisted perceptions and hers? How different from them did she sound when she screamed for blood, begging any and all who passed to give her some means to replace the energy she had lost in repairing her recent bullet wounds? The staff had ignored her, the doctors seemingly absent altogether, as if they had simply buried her there with no further interest in her progression or outcome. Struggling now to play the Devil's advocate, Karen wondered just how accurate Dr. Andrews's assessment had been. There had been one other "patient" like her before, but he had died within a matter of months-slowly rotting away until there was literally nothing left of him but skin and bones. Was she doomed to die there in hellish solitude, as well? If she was slowly dying, was the staff even trying to find a way to save her? The cries of the other patients suddenly became too much, and Karen leaned beside a foul-smelling food tray to scream through the slit in her door, "Shut up!" The voices only responded with even greater intensity, some of them now directing hostile comments directly at her. She leaned up against the wall beside the door, her frustration rising to a new high. If she didn't satisfy her craving soon, she felt as though her body might cave in on itself. The sensation was excruciating, and she couldn't help but scream as she began to tear at her thick, pretty brown hair. She looked over at the dry ham and cheese sandwich, the fruit cocktail, and the smelly cup of orange juice. The offering had been sitting there since about five that evening, and like every night it would simply sit there until someone remembered to remove it. Karen glared down at the sandwich with a strange mix of desperation and disgust. The need to fill her stomach too dire for her to ignore any longer, Karen snatched the ham from the sandwich and stuffed it into her mouth. She chewed for some time, gagging and choking, forcing down the mass of cured meat. The food hit her stomach like a heap of toxic waste, and immediately she began to wretch and cough. She loomed over the tray, the need to vomit hitting her like a sickening punch to the gut. It came back up all at once, accompanied by a vile yellow liquid, and she continued to gag and wretch, until her stomach cramped and she could barely breathe. Karen slammed the tray back into the hallway with an angry growl. She wiped her face as she slid back against the wall, wishing she had something hard enough to punch. Cursing aloud, Karen slammed her fist into the soft floor. She fell silent, listening, as the heavy security door creaked open and quickly fell back shut. "I think I'll watch from here," said an unfamiliar male, clearly refusing to move any further down the hall, the deep timbre of his voice masked with apprehension. "Suit yourself," Dr. Andrews muttered. "Give me the stun-gun." Karen could hear the flustered exchange, and then voices from various inmates going from hateful, to imploring, and then back to hateful, as the quick, heavy click of heels began from the far end of the hall. The footsteps passed a number of doors without skipping a beat. Karen held her breath, carefully listening, as they continued toward her end of the hall. She realized that a second set of footsteps moved alongside the first. They were muffled, somehow, nearly mute beside their loud, clicking counterparts. They moved closer, soft hushes against the hard linoleum flooring, slowing in synch with the tap of Dr. Andrew's heeled shoes as they approached Karen's door. "I made you a present," Karen muttered, certain that her visitors stopped simply to contemplate the mess on the tray. She chuckled lightly, and then found herself fighting tears as yet another pang of hunger tore through her. "Where are we going, again?" croaked a middle-aged man. "I want to go back to bed." "That's where we're going," Dr. Andrews's replied. "You'll see." Karen turned her head at the sound of keys jingling, and she sprang to her feet, summoning up the last of her energy as the door opened. Before she could move to circumvent the door, however, the man rushed in with a quick shove, slamming into her and blocking any potential path. The door slammed shut and locked with a loud click, as Karen threw aside her unwanted guest. The man, dressed in the familiar boxer shorts, hospital gown, and hospital-issued booties, stared at Karen, just as confused as she. He had a short beard and short, greasy hair, and his eyes were as weathered as they were shifty. He smelled of dried urine, sweat, and semen. His eyes meeting Karen's, he offered her a crooked smile. Karen stared back, reading the man's face. The look in his eyes was startling, and her gut told her that he was in there for crimes far worse than hers. "Have at it," Dr. Andrews said, and then she began down the hall with a click of her heels. The man laughed at his fortune, brushing aside his hospital gown and grabbing his erect penis through the hole in the front of his boxers. He took a step forward as Karen rushed toward him. A moment later she had him by the neck, and he screamed as she tore into his flesh and drank hungrily and greedily. Karen closed her eyes as horrific memories of the man's many deeds came to her in a quick and heavy flood. The man, James, was a sociopath, his life before lock-down having been one of apathy, self-indulgence, and heartless manipulation. He viewed the world as his personal chessboard. Luckily for the world, his final move was to this horrible place. Checkmate. Karen clenched her teeth, taken back and revolted by the images of James's many victims, hating him more with every passing moment, and hating herself just as badly for harboring the man's grotesque final memories. They were not hers, she knew, but at the same time they were overwhelming. They made both her body and her soul feel heavy and defiled. James cried out as Karen took him to the ground, tearing into his neck with an alarming surge of rage and vindictiveness. With a loud cry of her own, she ripped his throat completely open, and his voice became but a whimper against the clamor of cries still echoing through the long, empty hallway.