Of Fever and Blood Read online

  Of Fever and Blood

  A Thriller

  S. CEDRIC

  Contents

  I: THE VICTIMS

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  II: THE MASK

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  III: THE WOLVES

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  IV: CAPTIVE

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  52

  53

  V: JUDITH SAINT-CLAIR

  54

  55

  56

  57

  58

  59

  60

  61

  62

  63

  64

  65

  66

  67

  68

  69

  70

  71

  72

  73

  74

  75

  76

  77

  VI: THE SCARLET FEAST

  78

  79

  80

  81

  82

  83

  84

  85

  86

  87

  88

  89

  90

  91

  92

  93

  94

  95

  96

  97

  98

  99

  100

  101

  102

  103

  Acknowledgments

  Preview: The First Blood

  They will say I have shed innocent blood.

  What’s blood for, if not for shedding?

  —Clive Barker, Candyman

  I

  THE VICTIMS

  1

  The girl’s name was Eloïse Lombard, she was sixteen, and she knew she was going to die. Her abductors were going to kill her. That was obvious now.

  When they dragged her here, giving her no chance to defend herself, when they tore off her clothes piece by piece until she was totally naked, and when they bound her wrists and ankles before throwing her onto a sticky mattress, she still hoped they only meant to rape her. That thought was unbearable enough. But deep inside, where the soul never lies, she knew. What they were going to do to her when they came back would be much worse than rape.

  She saw the brownish-red puddles in the farmyard. It was blood, and there was plenty of it everywhere.

  They had done it to other girls before her.

  And soon—very soon—it would be her turn.

  Bound and helpless, Eloise started to cry again.

  Maybe for the hundredth time, she tried pulling on the straps that held her down. The ties bit into her skin as she tugged. It hurt. Eloïse kept trying, jerking, leaning forward, with strength born of desperation.

  She was shaking from the cold, too. The room wasn’t heated. Goose bumps rose on her naked legs and genitals. On her breasts, too. She had once been proud of her generous curves. Now they filled her with shame. Roman Salaville had touched her—everywhere—while he had held her down so his brother, Claude, could tie her wrists.

  Better to be dead already than to feel that man’s calloused hands on her skin.

  There was a window in front of her, but the shutters were closed and allowed in only a few weak rays of light. In the partial darkness, Eloïse could make out a ceiling with heavy beams, typical of rural houses. The only piece of furniture was a wooden chest of drawers with a large broken mirror on it. Turning her head, she could see a door on one side of the room and a second one on the other side. Both were ajar. She assumed the one on the right led into the rest of the house. Her abductors had brought her here from the farmyard through the door on the left.

  For the length of a fantasy, she felt the straps loosening up and freeing her. She imagined herself running away, crossing the blood-soaked farmyard, clambering over the fence and making it to the road. She would have to wait for a car to pass by. She would be saved.

  The fantasy did not last.

  Eloïse Lombard was not stupid. She knew none of this could happen. The Salaville farm was on a deeply wooded mountainside where no one ventured. Here there were only steep fields, huge trees, and chaotic rocks. No other house could be found for miles. And no one ever visited the two brothers. They had always lived in seclusion, like animals.

  No one would ever come to help her.

  The thought brought more sobbing.

  Was this some sort of punishment? An irrational guilt had already sunk its fangs into her heart. But what the hell could she have done wrong? School had been on break, and she had just gotten tired of staying home alone, where she was totally bored, as any sixteen-year-old girl would have been. She had called Lucie Jourdain, and when her friend invited her over to watch videos, she jumped at the opportunity to turn a miserably gray October night into an enjoyable evening. She left her parents a note on the kitchen table and jumped on her bicycle.

  It was late in the season. It had rained all morning and part of the afternoon, but it wasn’t too cold. Eloïse concentrated as she pedaled to avoid skidding on the slick road.

  She was only a block away from Lucie’s house when she noticed the SUV following her.

  At first she thought the driver was lost. He was creeping along, as though looking for the right house. It made sense. This was a cookie-cutter neighborhood, where all the homes looked alike.

  When the SUV crept closer, she figured the driver wanted to pass and was just being careful. The engine grumbled right behind her. At the corner, she stopped and planted a foot on the ground so the vehicle could pass.

  Instead, it also stopped, its engine roaring. The back door flew open, and a man jumped out. He was fat, wearing faded jeans and a plaid shirt that strained to hold his massive gut.

  She knew him. His name was Roman Salaville. Once in awhile, he came to the supermarket to give Mr. Ortega a hand at the meat counter. People said he lived in the mountains with his brother, and everyone agreed that the Salaville boys were odd. Their parents had left to settle somewhere in Spain almost ten years earlier, leaving the farm to their sons, and nobody had heard from them since. Roman and Claude were in their early twenties at the time. According to Lucie Jourdain, they had a serious drinking problem, and both had already spent time in a psych ward. Lucie’s father had told her this. He had it on good authority—he worked at Saint-Vincent Hospital.

  Right away, Eloïse knew something was wrong. Why was Roman out here at this time of night? She didn’t like his appearance, hunched over as though he didn’t want anyone else to see him.

  “Mr. Salaville? Can I help you?”

  She glanced down the street. It was deserted. Reflexively, she put her right foot on the pedal, ready to get away as quickly as possible. But in the next instant she felt the helpless anguish of a small animal about to be overtaken by a predator. Everything was happening too slowly. Part
of her brain registered that Roman’s shirt was torn. She could clearly see the hair in his armpit. A layer of fat hung over his belt, jiggling with his every movement.

  She could smell the stench on him, too. It reminded her of Mr. Ortega’s meat counter, only more pungent. It was the reek of rotten meat.

  But worse still was his gaze, what glistened in the man’s small black eyes.

  Like he was eyeing an ice cream cone and intended to swallow it in one bite.

  “Don’t! Don’t do that. Get away!”

  The fat man lunged at her.

  Eloïse tried to move back. She screamed. The man’s hands clutched at her and then snatched her off her bike effortlessly. Captive in his powerful arms, she couldn’t struggle. She couldn’t even scream. The man clamped his huge hand over her mouth, jamming her lower lip against her teeth. She tasted her own blood as it flowed onto her tongue.

  Then he dragged her into the back of the SUV, as his brother stomped on the gas.

  They drove a long time, following small roads across the countryside without passing another vehicle. All during the ride, fat Roman Salaville kept her tight against him. He mashed his filthy lips against her neck, against her hair. She felt the man’s hand slide over her breasts to squeeze them. She said nothing. She just cried, painful tears. They tasted like blood.

  And now they were going to kill her. It was so clear.

  Eloïse heard a noise. It snapped her to the present.

  Footsteps, in the adjoining room.

  Then a faint creaking.

  She turned her head.

  The door on the right was opening slowly. The hinges groaned.

  Eloïse stiffened.

  It wasn’t the Salavilles.

  It was an animal.

  It pushed its head through the door, and then its smooth figure slithered into the room.

  A dog. That’s what Eloïse thought at first. The beast looked like a dog, black and scrawny, its hair mangy, its eyes like embers.

  But it wasn’t a dog.

  Not at all.

  The wolf slinked closer.

  She could smell its fetid breath, see its yellow fangs.

  The beast’s small red eyes glared at her, as though they contained all the evil in the world. In their depths, Eloïse recognized the same spark of insanity that burned in Roman Salaville’s eyes.

  She closed her eyes and stiffened.

  The animal did not attack her.

  She opened her eyes.

  There was no trace of the canine in the room anymore. The door was ajar.

  A hallucination? Was that it? Were her eyes playing a trick on her? Was it a waking dream? Either way, it was the very first time she had ever experienced anything like that. She had reached her breaking point. If the torture went on for much longer, she was going to lose her mind.

  She began to sob again.

  At that moment, the door on the left, the one leading to the yard, blew wide open.

  The massive outline of Roman Salaville materialized in the doorframe.

  In Eloïse’s throat, the sob turned into a scream of terror. Now the danger was all too real. She pulled even harder on the straps. She thrashed on the mattress. All in vain.

  The man walked toward her, unhurried.

  2

  The fat man’s suffocating smell assaulted her as he leaned over. Roman Salaville was still wearing the torn shirt, his huge belly straining against the material. But now the shirt was damp, as though it had been spattered with some viscous—red—matter. When she saw him up close, Eloïse realized that his face was smeared with the same thick substance. A mask of blood.

  His twisted smile looked frozen on his lips.

  His eyes were two black chasms.

  “You’re next. You’ve been chosen.”

  His voice was surprisingly soft. He spoke casually, as though he were making pleasantries.

  Behind him, his brother, Claude, entered the room.

  Eloïse had rarely ever seen Claude. She had passed him at the supermarket twice, maybe three times. The two men bore little resemblance. Roman was fat, while Claude was tall and skinny. And Roman just looked stupid, while Claude radiated pure, intense malice.

  Claude Salaville was wearing nothing but blue jeans and combat boots. He was bare chested, and she could see his scrawny ribs that expanded with every breath. He, too, was covered with blood. It looked like he had squirted it on and smeared it all over his torso and arms. He did not have his brother’s drawn smile. No, his eyes held an unappeasable dark flame, burning with the power of hurricanes or wildfire, holding all the unstoppable destruction found in this world.

  He raised a glistening hand. Huge drops of bright-red blood dripped on the floor. The stench was horrendous.

  “Untie her.”

  His brother said nothing. He walked over to the girl and reached for the straps on her ankles.

  “Don’t you move. Everything will be fine,” the fat man said.

  Eloïse clenched her jaw. Damn liar.

  Roman Salaville struggled with the ties. He freed her right leg, then her left leg.

  For a brief moment, she didn’t dare move. She didn’t dare breathe. She felt her hands being untied in turn. She drew herself into a fetal position, her muscles in knots. A rush of adrenaline muddled her thoughts. A trickle of blood escaped her nostrils, and she broke into a coughing fit.

  “You’re going to be a good girl, aren’t you?” Claude said.

  He grabbed her to pull her to her feet. But his blood-smeared fingers slipped off her arm.

  All of a sudden, Eloïse was free. She wasn’t tied down anymore. No one was holding her. It was now or never. She lived, or she died.

  She didn’t think. She didn’t have time. She jumped to her feet and took off as fast as she could.

  She felt Roman’s hand graze her shoulder. She heard him scream with rage, and then everything happened very fast. She lurched, praying she wouldn’t lose her balance, and left a lock of blond hair in the man’s hand.

  She ran.

  Claude Salaville shouted, ordering his brother to stop her, quick. Eloïse was already nearly at the doorway leading into the house.

  She pushed it open and almost slipped, but she managed to grab the frame. She slammed the door behind her and dashed down a hallway, into darkness.

  She heard the curses and animal-like screams of the two brothers sprinting after her, almost tearing the door off its hinges in their haste. A vase toppled over as they rushed past it and crashed to the floor.

  Eloïse Lombard kept running without looking back.

  At the end of the hallway was another room. She slammed the door behind her and almost shrieked with joy when she spotted the key in the lock. She turned it, fast.

  Almost right away, the door shook on its hinges as the brothers started pounding on the other side.

  Eloïse moved away as quickly as possible and rushed toward another opening at the far end of the room.

  She found herself in another hallway lined with what appeared to be more rooms, all of them steeped in darkness. Every shutter in the house was closed.

  She hesitated, trying to make out what was in front of her.

  The main part of the house was over there. She could see a kitchen on her right and some sort of living room straight ahead. She could hide anywhere.

  But they would eventually find her, wouldn’t they?

  What would she do when—sooner or later—she wound up in a room without an exit?

  Behind her, they were pounding at the door.

  A thought occurred to her. As fast as she could, Eloïse retreated to where she had just come from. There was a narrow closet just beside the door the brothers were battering.

  She hoped she was small enough to slip in and hide.

  She did not have much choice at this point.

  She barely had time to wedge herself into the narrow space before Roman Salaville threw himself once more against the door, this time ripping it from its hinges.<
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  Squeezed into the closet, her back crushed painfully against the shelves, Eloise had only the door to shield her from the Salavilles. But the brothers bolted straight across the room. Once in the hallway, they began to open all the rooms, searching everywhere.

  “Where is she? Where’s the little bitch hiding?” Roman Salaville barked.

  “She won’t get far,” his brother answered. “I’ll check out the stockroom. You look for her in the living room.”

  Eloïse slipped an arm out of the closet and pushed away the splintered door. She couldn’t see the brothers from her vantage point, but she heard the doors slamming nearby and objects being smashed.

  She had to make a decision. Right now.

  She crept out of her hiding place and hurried back down the hallway as fast as she could, winding up in the room where they had held her captive.

  She saw the naked mattress and the straps attached to it. Brownish stains covered the surface. She shivered, but this was no time to panic. The two psychopaths would soon realize that they were heading in the wrong direction, and they would come back here.

  She raced across the room, and as she grazed one of the walls, her shoulder hit a hanging wooden Virgin Mary statue.

  As it toppled to the floor, Eloïse stifled a scream of terror.

  She crept to the doorway and glanced outside.

  From here, she could only make out a strip of the farmyard. And all the blood that had been spilled there. Large, gleaming puddles.

  She did not want to know. All that mattered was getting away from here. Escaping.

  Another house, all of its shutters closed, as well, was on the other side of the yard. A stone barn stood midway between the two houses.

  She could see a wall topped with barbed wire surrounding the farm. If she ran fast enough, could she reach it without being detected?

  Behind her, the racket came to a stop.

  She could hear the Salavilles’ voices.

  Then she heard their footsteps.

  Already they were coming back her way.

  She stopped thinking and dashed.

  She covered the first few yards without any problem.

  When she hit the puddles of blood, though, her bare feet slipped.

  She thought she would wind up sprawled on the ground.

  But she managed to keep going.

  She ran frantically. She could not tell if her tormentors were gaining on her, and the uncertainty was unbearable.